


Blood Rites

by peachxi (peachi3)



Series: Invictus (A Little Wicked verse) [3]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Fantasy, Demons, Eventual Smut, Fae & Fairies, Fae!Yuta, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Mental Health Issues, Mentioned NCT Ensemble, Mentioned polyamory, Original Mythology, Other, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Side Story, Sorceror!Sicheng, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 70,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27608831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachi3/pseuds/peachxi
Summary: Yuta has spent over a century desperately trying to find something, or someone, to live for. The last thing he expects when a long-lost prince crash lands into his forest is for said prince to incidentally lead him to the thing he realises he’s been waiting for all along.Sicheng has spent twenty-five years living solely for his brothers and his people. The last thing he expects when his long-lost brother comes barrelling home with a vendetta and his unique troupe of lovers in tow is to find himself wondering what it’d be like to live for himself, for a change.
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta
Series: Invictus (A Little Wicked verse) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606135
Comments: 31
Kudos: 62





	1. chapter one | yuta

**Author's Note:**

> The next work in the ALW series! This probably can be read as a standalone, I'm not sure? It plays off events in Bloodlines at first but I'd like to think I made it understandable. At some point in the future, I'll come back and edit to add in extra details etc.

Yuta let out a playful chuckle as he was shoved forward by his companions and urged into the seat in front of him. It was a busy day in the city centre, and he’d made the unfortunate mistake of letting the other apprentices drag him out on their free day; if he was honest he would’ve much preferred spending the day by himself since he always had company, but alas. Instead, he was here, sitting across from a supposed seer.

He said ‘supposed’ because _real_ seers were practically unheard of these days, but that didn’t stop there being one on each street corner claiming they could tell you your future.

“What would you like to know, boy?” The black-haired youth counted out a few coins from his purse and pressed them into her outstretched hand before turning his own over, palm up. What _did_ he want to know? Some seers, real ones, could also venture into the past — he could ask about the parents he’d never known or if he had any living relatives out there. He could ask when he’d die, whether he’d ever amount to anything, whether he’d be happy.Or . . .

“Do I have someone that my heart beats for?” He heard the others snicker behind him but Yuta didn’t look away from the woman’s eyes. Their teasing, no doubt about him being a hopeless romantic, wasn’t something that bothered him too much. Even if he didn’t believe she was capable of giving him any real answers he couldn’t deny the small piece of his heart which clung onto the naive hope that, just maybe, she could.

Rather than laughing at him the woman smiled, something bittersweet, and covered his palm with her own. It was an old, outdated belief — the sort of thing most people had never even heard of these days — but those who did know of it often held the concept dear. Yuta _knew_ that it was juvenile to fantasise about someone out there being made just for him, or that anyone could ever love him, completely and wholeheartedly. More than that . . . it wasn’t plausible, anyway. He was one of the castle’s many wards and he’d already vowed his life to his king and people. Yuta had a duty, even if he was still an apprentice, and that duty was to come above all else, definitely above love or anything of the sort.

“You’re an old soul, aren’t you?” She hummed, the creases around her eyes deepening as she rearranged his palm and began tracing over the lines there. “Most people just ask me who they’ll marry or who they’ll love, and I give them their answers — they don’t think to ask who they were made for. If I could lead you to them I would, dear boy, but their heart doesn’t beat.” It was the last thing that Yuta had expected to hear from her. These faux-fortune-tellers always told you exactly what you wanted to hear in the most open, roundabout ways to try and convince you of their truths, unless they thought they could gain something from it.

Even so, the idea that there was someone who was meant to be his, that he was lucky enough to have such a thing, but that he’d never even had a chance to meet them . . . it was agonising. It hit far too close to home. Everyone who _should’ve_ loved him had died before he’d ever even had a chance to know them.

“Tell me about them,” Yuta found himself asking in a quiet voice. “Please.”

Maybe it was better this way. Within the next decade he’d be passing his final texts and gaining his proper title as a member of the royal guard — once that happened he didn’t have the time to entertain things such as romance or the fantasy of a family and someone to love. His whole life would be dedicated to the crown just as it should be; his only purpose to serve the royal family and his people. It was the least Yuta could do to pay back the years of their protection they’d given him; they’d had no obligation to take in an orphan boy who’d come from no social standing whatsoever, a nameless bastard with nothing to offer, but they had. Seungyoun had vouched for him, so they’d given him a name, an education, and a reason to live.

Maybe it was better, but that didn’t mean it was easier.

“Your heart beats for someone filled with ambition and desire.” Her voice was gentle as she spoke, like she was talking to a child. “You would know the moment you saw them — their beauty would be unlike anything you’ve ever seen, my boy. They would not be easy to love, nor would it be easy to earn theirs, but once they did, they would love with every inch of their being.”

Despite the deafening ache in his chest, Yuta smiled. “I always did love a good challenge.”

—

Over the years, Yuta forgot all about that day in the marketplace and the seer who’d left his mind burdened for months. He’d been nothing more than a child at the time, barely twenty, and for a fae that was but a drop in the ocean — the only space he’d had in his mind had been for his training, not for old wives tales and the words of a lady who he’d never seen again.

Yuta had thought that he’d be satisfied, once he graduated and was appointed a member of the guard; for his entire life it’d been the only thing he had to work towards or think about and now that he had it, it gave him a sense of purpose, but as much as he tried to fight it there was always a hollowness that he felt deep in his bones, like an old injury that’d never had the chance to heal, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He was happy with his position. He had a roof over his head, food in his belly, a warm bed to sleep in, some he could even call his friends. Sure, it wasn’t ideal having to share a room with Johnny, but Johnny was cool, and one roommate was much more preferable than a whole barrack of them even if he’d never known privacy growing up.

And then it started. If Yuta had to pick one thing as the catalyst, as the beginning, it would’ve been the day the king died. Heir after heir after heir, all driven by their own selfish desires and lust for powers or, if by some miracle they were someone who would be worthy of the crown, they were manipulated by those behind the scenes who were driven by the same things. Yuta watched them all come and go. He watched them all try and fail. He got to know each one, no matter how little.

If he had to choose one thing which changed his life directly, though, and set him on the course that he’d ended up on, there was no debate about what’d influenced him the most, and that was being offered a place in the Hunt. It was a position that everyone coveted but few ever had the chance to take, and even those who did make the extreme requirements weren’t guaranteed a spot. It simply wasn’t that easy — but then again, could it be expected to be given they were the highest rank of the guard?

Meeting their criteria was only the first step. The second was the real challenge, and that was the gruelling, deadly trials set in place to make sure that only the best of the best could ever hope to make it through. The only way to explain just how difficult they were was to say that more people had tapped out than passed, and the number of those who’d died during them was also greater than the select few who’d had the strength to make it.

Four years ago, Johnny had successfully completed his own trials and been initiated into the Hunt. Yuta had just been glad that his closest friend here hadn’t died a gruesome death in the process, though he’d had no doubts from the start that the elder would make it through. It was Johnny, after all. The extra twenty years the other had on him probably helped. At ninety-six he was offered the place he’d been striving for ever since he was just a child and, if he did manage to succeed, he’d be the youngest to have ever made it. If that wasn’t an achievement to be proud of then he wasn’t sure what would be.

There was no hesitation when he accepted. Yuta knew it would be hard. Painful. That at times he’d want to quit. All of that was completely accurate. The one thing he'd tried to ignore, though, and the one thing he should’ve known would be the hardest, was that he wouldn’t be able to ignore his power forever. By the gods, he’d tried. Ever since he’d begun the long journey of learning to control and harness his magic he’d known that there was something different inside him. His magic was wholly fae, it always had been, but his speciality didn’t lie in something that would bring positive reactions.

Yuta had tried to pretend it wasn’t there, though the number of birds he’d breathed life back into during his youth contradicted that. Deep down he’d known there was no fighting it — your speciality wasn’t something you chose, it was what you were made for. Yuta couldn’t fight the whispers of the dead and dying forever.

His final trial was what claimed the most lives. One year wasn’t an exorbitant amount of time, not really, but in a place like the wildlands . . . every day seemed to drag on forever, a desperate struggle to survive in the heart of their world where the land was equally beautiful and deadly and only the fiercest could survive. The fae had not tamed the wilderness, the wilderness had allowed them to live in its world, but the wildlands were the one place which was to remain untouched, unchanged, a place where no man could hope to beat nature.

Going there, in general, would be a worthy trial for anyone. One year? Immeasurable. Being chucked in there with nothing but the clothes on your back, completely and utterly defenceless in a place where everything wanted to break him down and consume him? It sounded impossible.

That was exactly why he had to succeed.

It wasn’t until four months into his final trial that he thought of her again (the seer) and, more specifically, what she said. Yuta’s whole life had been centred around serving his monarch and people as a member of the guard and paying them back for every single opportunity they’d allowed him and he’d never stopped to think about any alternatives. After all, he’d accepted at a young age that there’d never be anything else in his cards. He had no family, only a few friends, though they were certainly very important to him, and a promise that the one who was supposed to be his never would be.

It was a harsh reality to think it’d all been for nothing as he stared into the gaping maw of the entity that was about to kill him. Large, rotting fangs lingered inches from his face as spittle dripped onto his skin, the cavern of its mouth endless and its breath the most obscene stench he’d ever experienced. Ragged, matted fur which was caked with gore and filth clung his hands where he’d tried to fight it off. Bones cracked and crumbled underneath him, decaying flesh squelching between his fingers as he scrambled for something, _anything_ , to use.

No one was coming to his rescue. It was just him and this monstrous, hulking bear that wanted his blood.

When there was nowhere else to turn, Yuta found himself turning within. Deep, deep down inside his chest, so far that no light from the outside world could possibly reach it, a small flame burned; it was a flame that’d been there ever since he’d been born, a flame that, if he’d nurtured it rather than denying it, could’ve been a raging wildfire by now. He’d given it small allowances here and there, but never anything substantial. He’d never embraced it. For the first time in his life, Yuta plunged down headfirst and let it consume him.

The ground rumbled beneath him, bones rattling, rustling and raking growing louder and louder and louder until it was almost deafening. Despite the fact the world seemed to slow around him it was all over in a couple of short seconds. The decaying corpses of rotting creatures slowly knitted back together as tendrils of blossoming plants slipped into their forms, replacing what was gone, reconnecting bones and organs and filling out flesh. The entities den, which had been void of anything living, began to fill with life fuelled by his own magic, and from his magic, it all sprang forth to his aid.

Yuta didn’t have time to savour or celebrate his victory. His world spun as his eyes, unable to focus on anything, half-registered the light spilling in from the top of the ravine all the way above him. His ears struggled to make sense of the sounds around him — the ripping and tearing and snarling, the wails. A sense of calmness and surety that he’d never experienced before settled over him and, finally, he allowed himself to rest.

Once the floodgates were opened, there was no stopping the onslaught.

He’d overexerted himself when he’d fought back (not that he’d had much of a choice or even made a conscious decision to do so) and so it wasn’t surprising to him that his magic hadn’t held past the point he’d passed out. Yuta awoke with an agonising wound on his back from where the entity had sliced him open with a slice of its paws and a deep ache which settled into his bones, something he knew came from pushing himself too far. Even though he’d survived the bear, his magic could’ve killed him anyway. It’d drained him, unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

The fae pushed himself up with a groan that had him biting harshly into the flesh of his lips as it tugged at the open wounds he sported, black dotting through his vision as he was forced to simply breathe through the pain. Shit. Once he could see properly and didn’t feel like he was going to pass out again he took a moment to actually survey his surroundings. A number of the corpses he’d seen in the frantic fight too survive last night had moved from their final resting places, but there was no life left in them, now — the borrowed life he’d given them had failed with nothing to sustain it. They were decomposing, once again, the parts of them his magic had rebuilt with plants giving way. Out of the countless bodies which the entity had chased down into this ravine over the years, it was only those of what could be considered animals which his magic had affected; the distinctly human ones remained untouched. Yuta has always figured as much.

The creature which had attacked him lay dead a few feet away, torn to shreds and looking just as abnormally large (even for a bear) as it had in life but still far less terrifying. Its eyes no longer glowed that menacing red and shadows no longer crept along its fur. The smell, though, that remained. Creatures like this — abnormalities — weren’t uncommon in the wildlands. He’d come across plenty of them, though none this formidable until now. They were twisted, warped by the high concentrations of magic here, turned into something more than animal. Smarter, stronger, and usually with a thirst for blood.

Well, there was no turning back now, and he certainly wasn’t going to give up after everything he’d endured. Just eight more months to go.

Yuta reached out for the nearest thing he could and tried not to think about the fact he was using the large bone of _something_ like a cane as he forced himself up onto his feet despite the pain. _One step at a time_ , he reminded himself.

—

Twelve months, probably to the hour, after he’d been thrown into the wildlands, Johnny stepped forward from a portal and swept him up into a giant, firm hug. “I knew you could do it, you crazy bastard,” his friend laughed as they stumbled a bit. Yuta didn’t even hesitate to wrap his arms around the other in return. He’d missed this — not just social contact other than his, uh, little friends, but Johnny.

“Missed you too,” he murmured as he patted the others back a few times with a thud before pulling back. Even with the improvements to his situation none of the time he’d spent here had been overly easy and Yuta knew he probably looked like shit. Probably not as worse as they’d be expecting, though, since most of them had been betting he wouldn’t survive. It’d been hard, yes, but once he’d gotten the hang of it he’d been able to make sure that he at least had days where he wasn’t struggling to survive. Once he’d accepted his affinity, it’d opened up a whole new world; he could never hope to control the wildlands, no one ever could, but Yuta had learnt how to coexist with it, and that was something that he felt was unique to him.

Rather than running from place to place each day, always running, he’d managed to find a spot to settle and call home, if that was the right term for the treehouse he’d tried to craft (because caves were quickly ruled out due to all the monsters that favoured them), during his time here. He slowly amassed little companions, from birds which found their demise at the hands of bigger creatures or even some of the plants here to larger creatures. They became his sentinels, of sorts, and his connection to the forest. They helped him hunt, and they helped him stay alive.

Yuta had never considered how hard it would be to leave them all behind. They’d become an extension of himself, after all — he couldn’t hear their thoughts, not that they had thoughts in the way people did, not words and such but rather images, feelings, things he’d learned to decipher and communicate with. They wouldn’t fade due to how long he’d built them up and learnt to embed permanent magic into them during his time here, and that was, at the very least, a minor reassurance.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he returned, but for people to be whispering his name constantly wasn’t it, nor the immense praise, more than he’d ever desired, that he’d gotten from his captains and the elders. Yuta had managed to do what no one ever had during their trials — he’d not only survived but lived. As a reward, they’d offered to take away the scars he’d gained during his trial, but Yuta . . . he’d politely declined. Yuta had earned those claw marks and he’d wear them with pride.

And so, he was part of the Hunt. That in itself was mind-blowing to him but something that Yuta certainly threw himself into with everything he had, efforts which, apparently, didn’t go unnoticed, nor unrewarded.

“You show potential, Nakamoto — don’t let us down.”

That was how he met Kangdae.

Kangdae was so unlike any of the other heirs who’d come before him and it was Yuta’s job to make sure that, also unlike his siblings, he remained alive and breathing. He was the sort of man who had an undeniable charisma and charm, the sort who could convince people of anything, not through manipulation or coercion but rather because of the fact that he was so genuine and trustworthy. He was prideful yet knew when his ego needed to be pushed aside, smart yet not a smart ass, incredibly strong-willed yet able to yield when it was necessary without being walked over by those who’d seek to use him for their own gain. Kangdae wasn’t naive, either, but that didn’t mean he was jaded. He saw how things were whilst also being able to find the beauty in just about everything.

Yuta admired the sort of man he was from their first meeting and as time passed and he spent every waking hour, and the ones he slept, by the others side as his personal guard, they became friends. He knew from that moment that he’d follow this man to the ends of the world and that there was no better choice for their people.

Somewhere along the way, his feelings of respect and adoration shifted into something less innocent and friendly; Yuta knew what, one day, if he let himself, he could fall in love with this man, so . . . he ignored it. Whilst the guard were highly discouraged from entering relationships that would alter their focus and priorities, it wasn’t forbidden. When he’d been initiated into the Hunt, though, he’d taken a vow — he would serve no one, love no one other than his ruler and his people. To break it would be treason. Part of him reasoned that it wasn’t breaking the rules if the one he would love would be the very king he was supposed to love and serve, but he knew that it didn’t work like that.

Kangdae was a prince. He would be a king. Yuta had some status, now, but nothing compared to that. Beyond that, even, he knew that there would never be any chance that the elder would return such sentiments, not when he seemed absolutely taken with the daughter of one of the council elders. Yuta accepted that it was not possible and did not allow the feelings in his heart to grow any more, even though they’d already taken root. Instead, he vowed that he would devote his life to his friend and ensure that no harm came to him.

He failed. All it took was one moment, and it was over. Kangdae had slipped away from him with the excuse of meeting with his secret love to bring her flowers with a lovestruck smile on his face and Yuta, once he’d realised the other had snuck off, had vowed to give him a few moments of privacy.

Less than an hour after he last saw the others face, Kangdae was found dead in one of the halls, his eyes empty and lifeless with his still-warm blood pooled around his body. Yuta was absolutely destroyed and it left him wide open to Seungyoun’s manipulations and games.

He knelt over the prone body of his friend, now moved to the castle gardens, and he wept, uncaring of his audience. Yuta knew he had no right to weep — this was indirectly his fault, after all. It was why, when Seungyoun reasoned that he was so much stronger than he’d been in the forest, that their prince had only just died, that it was at least worth a try, he attempted the one thing he’d vowed he’d never do. Who was worth breaking the rules if not Kangdae?

It was wrong — he knew it before he even started, but that feeling of _wrongness_ only grew with each second that passed as he let his magic lash out around him. His agony fuelled his will as tendrils of grass and vines crept along the ground and encompassed the body of his friend, slowly covering him entirely until even his eyes, the ones that even empty seemed to stare into his soul, were finally out of sight. The dead brought Yuta comfort, but this did not. His skin crawled as a sick, cloying sensation rolled over his skin and he broke out in a cold sweat. His stomach rolled over and over as he struggled to keep it down. His hands trembled as he felt the way his magic filled out the damage that had been inflicted on his friend.

The vines receded and his magic snapped back against him like the recoil of a rubber band, making him fall to his hands and knees as he desperately tried to suck in a breath that didn’t feel stale with death. For a moment, there was silence, and then it started.

Kangdae’s body twitched in a way that was wholly unnatural as his bones cracked and rearranged, arms bent at wrong angles and his face disfigured as he sat up; his eyes were still empty in a way that wasn’t right, but his pupils moved, focussing on Yuta. A warbled noise fell from his throat as he was unable to form words. Yuta could feel what he couldn’t say. It was different to the animals — there were words and voices along with the feelings and pictures, all of it so rushed and overwhelming and warped that it felt like he was drowning alive as he stared into the other’s eyes.

He was in agony. He was suffering. This wasn’t what he’d wanted. _Please, please, please Yuta, don’t do this, don’t make me this—_

What had he done?

The thing that had once been his friend let out another strangled gasp and shifted to try and crawl forward, his body shifting and rearranging, bones poking against his skin before they’d heal in place again, plant matter writhing under his skin as he moved towards Yuta; Yuta instantly recoiled and tried to scramble backwards as best he could through the mess that was his mind. Kangdae only got a few feet before his body couldn’t hold up. Inhuman sounds filled from his lips in monstrous whines and croons that made him want to heave and block his ears. His body faltered. Before his eyes, it began to rot, flesh warping and shrivelling, falling away and melting into the ground beneath him.

Kangdae’s eyes met his own one last time and he watched with horror as a tear slipped down his mangle cheek. In his mind, he saw the elder’s daughter stabbing him as they embraced and Seungyoun standing over his body with a self-satisfied sneer.

Yuta saw red.

Of course, that was all part of Seungyoun’s plan — if things went terribly then he’d have a perfect scapegoat to shift the blame onto. After all, who would dare doubt someone with his influence, especially when they caught Yuta in the act trying to rip the elder apart with his own hands and his magic soaked into every pore of what had been Kangdae’s body.

Yuta had killed his charge for the sole purpose of attempting to reanimate him with his bastardised powers, the official report stated, so that he could control their future king and gain the notoriety and power which someone so lowborn undoubtedly must have coveted for a long time. Seungyoun had stumbled upon the scene and tried to stop him, which was when he’d been set upon by the rogue guard.

Everyone believed it. People he’d known his whole life — friends, mentors — turned their backs on him within an instant, and the worst part was that . . . well, Yuta hadn’t been able to blame them, even if part of him burnt with rage and resentment for their rejection. His incessant yelling was taken as the ramblings of a mad man. While the council debated his future, he rotted in a cell.

And then there was Johnny.

One minute he was staring aimlessly at the ceiling of his cell, awaiting his sentence, and the next he was blearily coming to with his back against something solid but rough. The cuffs that’d been rubbing his wrists raw for weeks were noticeably absent, meaning that for the first time since that night he was also able to reach down and grab hold of his magic, too. His eyes stung and struggled to stay open, his eyelids like heavy weights, but eventually, the film that seemed to hang over them began to clear and he managed to make sense of his surroundings.

Yuta would never be able to mistake this place for anything other than it was, not after the time he’d spent here, nor the way it reached out to him like a lover welcoming him home. The wildlands. He knew what that meant even before Johnny — who was crouching before him with a solemn, agonised expression and holding a large pack in his hands — opened his mouth to speak. Just like that, they’d cast him aside.

“They wanted to have you executed,” the taller male spoke quietly as he came to, “but we managed to talk them down.” _We_. Yuta knew who that meant: the Hunt. Perhaps not all of them, but some, at least. Johnny. “Your punishment is exile. We have orders to kill on sight if you return, with no exceptions.”

For anyone else, exile would be just as good as an execution — if anything it was even worse because it was near impossible for anyone to survive out here, whereas at least an execution was swift and far less painful. Not for him, though.

Yuta stared into the other’s eyes for a long minute before his throat bobbed and he reached for the bag. “You believe me, don’t you?” Kangdae had been loved by nearly everyone and, just as Yuta had been his friend, so had Johnny; if the other fae thought for even a moment that he had been the one to cause his death he would’ve made sure that he was long dead. He certainly wouldn’t be here, personally seeing him off. There was no fury in the other’s dark eyes, just regret.

“I’ve known you since we were kids, Yuta. I trusted Seungyoun, too, but I trust you more and his story doesn’t add up. Besides, we both know you could never have laid a finger on Kangdae.” Yuta had always been an expert at appearing like an open book despite the fact he kept his true feelings buried deep down, but if there was one person who’d always been able to see through his facade. It was no surprises that Johnny had been able to pick up on his fondness for their prince.

Johnny reached forward to clap a hand over his shoulder as his features tightened and he squeezed, his whole body tense. “You didn’t just survive out here — you lived. I . . . gods, if I could change things I would, but this was all I could do and I—“

“You don’t need to apologise,” Yuta insisted vehemently. There was a strength in his voice that hadn’t been there before, a strength in his eyes. “You’ve done everything you can, for now — just promise me one thing, Johnny.”

“Of course.”

“You keep an eye on that bastard, you hear me? Don’t trust a word he says. _Swear to me_ that if one of Kangdae’s siblings emerges that you’ll keep them safe . . . that you won’t make the same mistakes I did.”

Dark eyes stared into his own, slightly misty, before he was offered a sharp nod. “I swear. You have to promise me something too, Yuta: you’re going to live, you hear me? You’re going to survive, and when he slips up, when people realise you were right, you’re going to come back home. Promise me I won’t lose a brother.”

The burning sting in his palm had been inconsequential to Yuta as they’d stood face to face, hands clasped and blood trickling down their wrists as they sealed their vows with blood. When they broke apart and Johnny prepared a portal to depart there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to beg the other to stay rather than leaving him here alone, not knowing if he’d ever see him again, whether they’d ever cross paths. Yuta knew he couldn’t do that. Instead, he had to watch as Johnny walked away and the portal sealed shut behind him, leaving him with nothing but the forest as his company.

“I guess you have me all to yourself again,” Yuta murmured quietly as the wildlands came alive around him.


	2. chapter two | sicheng

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.”  
> ― Friedrich Nietzsche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lil honeybuns I'm so sorry that this took so long even if its technically only been two weeks I rlly wanted to put this out a lot sooner ;;;; from now on my update schedule should be a lot more consistent, and it should be every/every second Wednesday until the fic is finished. They're longer chapters than I usually write overall, at least these first few, because there's a lot I want to touch on. I hope they're enjoyable for you!
> 
> As the end of the year approaches, I hope you're all doing well and staying safe ♡ can you believe it's only been ten months (minus a few days) since I started writing again? I still have a long way to go but I'm proud of what I've accomplished so far, and I can't thank you all enough for sticking by me through it all.
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS:  
> (this fic in general is much darker than any of my previous ones and touches on a lot of things, but I'll try to add warnings for each chapter as best I can)  
> \- moderate transphobia and gender dysphoria  
> \- vague mentions of what could be considered self-harm  
> \- dub-con (though not exactly explicit) scenario featuring a power imbalance where one party consents but doesn't actually want it  
> \- overall angst and pain lmao
> 
> a little disclaimer: I am not trans. I do not know what it feels like. That being said, I've done extensive research and spoken to close friends who are to try and write this story in a way that is as real as possible. Still, even my friends can't speak for everyone's experiences, and I sincerely hope that nothing I write ever comes across as insensitive or offensive - if so, _please_ let me know. That is the last thing I ever want.

Sicheng knew the cruel words that they whispered behind his back, venom dripping from their tongues, but it’d been years since those words had added to the weight hanging over his soul — whatever was left of it, at least. There was nothing they could say that he hadn’t heard a million times before, whether from those he adored or despised, or from his own reflection. There was nothing they could _do_ which could stand up to the horrors that he’d witnessed from the monsters he’d called forth from the pit.

One of the girls watching him was years his junior, maybe only ten, but the hatred in her eyes was something born of a grudge that went far beyond her. Sicheng couldn’t blame her he — he _had_ blinded two of her older brothers when they were only just her age. He didn’t regret it. Those same boys had tormented Yukhei for years, left him battered and bruised because the boy was too scared to fight back, had pushed and pushed and _pushed_ until Sicheng had snapped on his behalf.

The blood had bothered him, back then — not because the blood itself made his skin crawl and broil, but because of the fact that it hadn’t. The young sorcerer had been terrified by the lack of remorse he’d felt. Now, with blood and broken bodies scattered around the floor beneath him, Sicheng felt none of that. He didn’t feel much of anything, actually, even though it was the first time he’d pushed his power so far as to kill someone, even though some of the people he’d been forced to kill had cared for him as a baby (though care was a subjective term when it came to these women).

Ever so slowly, Sicheng exhaled. He briefly caught sight of Kun shifting in his peripheral, taking a tentative step forward, and then another, breaking through the deafening silence which had settled over the main hall. “It ends here,” he finally spoke up. Puberty hadn’t been the kindest to Sicheng but he was at least grateful that his voice had lowered a bit over the years, just enough that, at nearly seventeen, it stood firm.

There was fear in the eyes of every single person there, including those that were laced with disgust and hatred. Sicheng felt like it had even crept into his brothers, just a little. The magic in his veins sung, resonating a tune he wasn’t familiar with, but one that felt like a warm, heady rush.

“Those of you who want to leave can. I won’t stop you. You won’t be punished. If you stay, though, and think you can get away with defiance, you’ll join them.” They said fear was a stronger emotion than love but Sicheng didn’t quite believe that. The love he had for his brothers was the strongest thing he’d ever felt, but it was something special, sacred, something he didn’t want to share with anyone else; there was no one else he could ever trust to that degree, surely. If he couldn’t have their devotion through love, he could have it through fear until they understood that he was doing this for the good of all of them, even those who he felt didn’t deserve it.

“If you don’t like it,” Sicheng declared as he stepped over one of the bodies, his boots squelching in the rapidly cooling blood which was beginning to congeal underfoot, “then kill me.” All of the shadows in the hall raced towards him like a faithful hound returning to their master, sinking back into his skin, leaving the room just as light as it had been beforehand as he left through the main doors.

Sicheng didn’t trust any of them not to stab him in the back, but he knew that none of them could hold a candle to the magic he wielded.

Hours later, Dejun gently dabbed at his forehead with a wet towel as Kun rubbed his back, the others already fast asleep and tucked in their own beds. Their youngest brothers were already far more mature for their age than he ever would’ve wanted for them, they all were, but Sicheng had at least managed to hide the extent of this from most of them today: the process of coming down from all that power. Sicheng had paid the price for this new magic, but he’d known that it was a gift that would keep on giving or, rather, taking.

“I’m fine,” the dark-haired male rasped. His voice was incredibly hoarse from repeatedly heaving over an old bucket, body aching from consistent tremors and cold shakes, skin pale. “I just overexerted myself.” It was the truth in most ways that mattered, at least; Sicheng wasn’t sure if he’d ever tell them the truth about how his power had grown so exponentially the past few months, because if he did . . . no, he would delay that burden as long as he could.

Usually, Kun would scold him for going too far, but normal circumstances didn’t apply here. Deep down they’d probably been terrified that he would lose today, even though they’d been planning this for months, so the fact that he’d won, that he survived — that probably got him out of a lecture.

“Just let us take care of you,” Kun mumbled softly. “We’re in this together, remember?”

They were. Sicheng would do anything — _be anything_ — for them. He told himself that he wouldn’t do it again after this, that this one time would be enough, but even thinking it he knew that it’d never be just once. Sicheng couldn’t care less for power used for his own gain, but when it came to his brothers there was an overwhelming sense of satisfaction and a heady craving for _more_. Together they’d build a new world, a better one, and no matter the prices he had to pay, he would. Nothing was too steep for them.

The first time he’d summed a demon had been terrifying yet thrilling, even though it’d only been a minor creature. The second was accompanied by fewer nerves and more confidence. The gnarled, twisted creature that he had contained in his circle was a far cry from the stories he’d heard as a child, old wives tales of handsome creatures that their ancestors had sold their souls to in order to gain their magic (except for the fact they were wholly true), but it would serve its purpose nonetheless. It tried to subdue him with honeyed whispers of what it could offer him but that was its mistake; there was nothing Sicheng wanted for himself, not anymore.

What could he possibly want for? Money? Money couldn’t fix the world. Love? The only love that mattered to him now was that of his brothers, not what a stranger could offer him. Sicheng knew that he was unlovable. Perhaps some people would look upon him with lust, if they could get past their disgust, or maybe others saw him as many already had, as a conquest, a sick experiment to see if they could tame him, but there was no one out there who could look past the horror that resided in his heart and still stand by his side. Sicheng knew deep down that even his brothers might one day run from him should they realise the extent of it and, whilst the thought was paralysing, it didn’t weaken his resolve. He would always look after them.

All these abominations could give him was power and the means to protect those he cared for.

It wasn’t easy. Sicheng was, for all intents and purposes, still a child. At seventeen he had the weight of so many lives hanging on his shoulders, plagued by their expectations, their fear, their hatred. All that kept him sane was his goal and his brothers — his Lieshou. They were the boys he’d grown up with but now, despite the fact all but one were younger than him, they were the men who had sworn their swords and lives to him. It gave him a reason to live.

As the years passed, his power grew. Naturally, in ways that he’d never imagined, which was amplified by the deals which kept accumulating under his skin, invisible marks which kept taking and taking each time he drew that circle and drew forth another demon. Some nights Sicheng stood in front of the mirror and stared at the expanse of his body, critically taking in every flaw, every difference, every part which made his stomach heave and his skin itch.

It would’ve been so easy to change it. He no longer bothered with smaller abominations, not when he was capable of summoning so much more, and the things which stalked the dungeons on those nights were truly capable of giving him what he’d craved ever since he was old enough to think. Sicheng ached with the desire to free himself from the prison that was this body, but he . . . he wouldn’t. No, he couldn’t use these deals for his own personal gain. Each and every one had to count.

His nails dragged ragged, red lines over the skin of his stomach which was still softer than he could deal with despite years of labour and working to change it, the way his hips still flared in a way which he couldn’t ignore, the way his body was so _soft_. Sicheng stared into the mirror, but it was a stranger who looked back. He couldn’t escape it no matter how hard he tried. It was in the way his chest wasn’t as firm as his brothers though, bless the gods, a far, far cry from the breasts which most women his age had. The way his hands and fingers always appeared so delicate. The way even now the other leaders would allow their people to stare and gawk, or do so themselves, pointing out his legs and thighs and what they led to.

Gods, Sicheng would do anything to look down and see the body he knew he deserved. Even if he did make a deal, a cock wouldn’t solve all of his problems — though he figured they seldom did for anyone. No one would ever see him as he was, even if he had all the right parts.

—

Laughter rang throughout the dining hall somewhere to his left which wasn’t a noise that Sicheng was predominantly used to hearing; over the past three years, he’d grown used to the way everyone shut up whenever he entered a room. Those first few months had been rough and filled with incidences when those who hadn’t deemed him worthy of their respect had disrespected and taunted him over and over, and they’d suffered for it. Sometimes it hadn’t even been at his hand. Sicheng had never forced his Lieshou to do anything but they’d still taken a stand whenever things had gone too far for their liking. Unlike his predecessors, he’d never killed someone for mere disobedience, nor doled out unnecessary punishments, but they’d still hated him for it.

Yangyang ran past him in a blur, half screaming, and whilst Sicheng could hear Kun scolding him for being so loud and causing a ruckus during lunch he couldn’t help but duck his head down and smile a little at his food. This was what he’d been fighting for and these little moments were what made everything worthwhile.

Something came flying at his head. Sicheng acted on pure instinct and his reflexes kicked in, his hand snapping up quicker than he could think to catch the object — the ball — in his palm. A thick, tense silence fell over the entirety of the room as all eyes centred on him, likely unsure of how he’d react, and when Sicheng looked up from his plate he realised that the boys were watching him, too.

He knew them — Renjun and Chenle. They were around Yangyang’s age and were some of the few kids who’d really been close with his brothers for a while now, though given how busy Sicheng was he’d rarely spoken to them. Even if he had the time he probably wouldn’t have, but that wasn’t their fault. The former was watching with obvious hesitation and concern, standing a few feet behind Chenle who seemed to be the one who’d thrown it, without intending to hit him, though.As much as Sicheng despised the prospect he expected the boy the cower and apologise as any of the others would, but he didn’t. Instead, Chenle did the oddest thing — he smiled.

It was wide, nearly blinding smile that made his eyes almost disappear as he raised his hands out like he was waiting to catch it, a contagious giggle falling from his lips. “Sorry, ge! I didn’t mean to throw it that far.”

Sicheng’s eyes widened ever so slightly and his heart lurched in his chest. _Oh_.

“You should be more careful,” he chided quietly without an inch of his usual ice in his voice as his expression softened. Sicheng shifted to balance the pall in his palm before lobbing it over lightly for the younger boy to catch.

“We will, promise.”

Two days later, both boys sat on his end of the table despite the fact they’d spent so long on the other side, separated by his brothers, laughing and joking like they’d belonged here all along.

Slowly, people started to warm up to him.

“I just don’t understand it,” he huffed one day as he went through sword forms with Dejun. Sicheng fought with magic rather than weapons but it was good for his body, and a handy skill to have regardless.

“There’s nothing to understand,” Dejun snorted as he ducked another swing. “They’re all just starting to see what we always have. Embrace it.”

—

Sicheng wished he was the monster that _they_ thought he was, rather than the one he already knew himself to be. He wished he could be as grotesque and cruel as all the other factions whispered he was if for the simple fact that he wished he wasn’t capable of emotions. Of sentiment. They made things so fucking hard.

Yes, _they should’ve known better_. Yes, they could’ve handled the situation better than they had if they’d been thinking clearly, but they _hadn’t_ , because they’d been goaded into it, trying to defend his honour as though he was worthy of that, let alone had any left to defend. Sicheng couldn’t blame them for what’d happened but that didn’t change that he was in this predicament because of them. Renjun, Chenle and Yangyang, all in trouble, and the faction they’d slighted were making the most of it.

“Blood for blood,” Lin Huian pointed out. Never mind the fact that the blood drawn was a singular nosebleed (though there’d been a lot more bruises that didn’t count) and that in turn, she wanted much more from his men. It wasn’t really her he had to worry about, though; even though Huian was technically the leader of one of the largest factions in Zhong Hua everyone knew she was just a pawn of her father, an intelligent and crafty man who’d seduced her mother and probably killed her years ago knowing his daughter would take her place. Lin Dingao was the one to keep an eye on, and he was the one Sicheng needed to deal with.

“The debt will be paid,” Sicheng promised as he twisted the ring on his forefinger, eyes flickering to the man in question where he stood behind his daughter. He was watching him, too. Sicheng was no fool — more than once he’d seen those wandering eyes. He quirked his brow ever so slightly. “Surely this is a matter which could be discussed in private? There’s no need to dampen everyone’s moods over something so trivial.”

“Sicheng speaks the truth,” Lin Dingao relented as he squeezed his daughter’s shoulder, all smiles despite the sharpness in his eyes as he stepped forward. “You enjoy the party, my dear, and I’ll settle this on your behalf, okay?” Everyone knew better than to think it was a request, including Huian.

He wanted to believe that he’d be able to strike an easy bargain this time around, but Sicheng hadn’t gotten this far by being naive; Dingao had been looking for a reason to knock them down a peg ever since he’d ascended and he knew that he’d likely run out of bargaining chips by this point. He’d rather die than allow them to be made an example of simply because this man’s ego exceeded reason. If there were any other way to get out of this then he would’ve taken it.

Instead, he stood across from the older male in his private quarters and steeled his resolve. “We’ve been over this, Sicheng — you have nothing to offer me. Why go through all this trouble over a little bit of beating and bloodletting?” The mere thought of them being forced to endure such a thing made his stomach crawl, possibly even more so than the knowledge of what he was about to do; he thought of Renjun, of Chenle, so young— of Yangyang, and he knew he couldn’t back down.

“Playing dumb isn’t becoming on you,” Sicheng snorted boorishly as he moved to untie the sash around his waist. The young sorcerer presented as the epitome of confidence but inside he’d never felt so small. He’d rather face demons a million times over than endure this personal hell of his, but that just proved how far he’d go for those he cared for. “You think I don’t see the way you watch me? An hour to do whatever you desire, and in return, the debt is paid. I won’t offer it twice.”

Hazel eyes sharpened and leisurely trailed over his body as they no doubt imagined the extent of what he was offering; Sicheng knew from the moment that the words left his lips that he had him, hook, line and sinker. “Anything?”

“I don’t repeat myself.” Sicheng let the sash fall to the floor and let his hands shift to undo the few buckles across his chest, the material of his shirt beginning to slope off his shoulders and reveal the pale skin underneath, smooth and free of blemishes. The cool air that washed over him caused his nipples to pebble despite the sick, twisted feeling in his chest. “Deal?”

“Sicheng, Sicheng, _Sicheng_ , you always did have such a way with words,” Dingao mused with a hungry grin, “we have a deal.”

He’d heard people describe situations like this as occurring in a blur, beginning and ending so quick that it was hard to recall exact details or nuances, but Sicheng found himself secretly despising anyone who’d been so lucky. He memorised every single groove in the roof above the bed as a too-warm, clammy body rutted back and forth, warm breath washing over his throat and chest in a way that was cloying and sickly, accompanied by words which hadn’t ceased making his skin crawl the whole time.

He’d agreed to this, but that didn’t make it any easier.

The moment the hour was up, down to the second, Sicheng sat up and pulled his clothes back on despite the leisurely calls for him to stay and have some more fun, and without so much as a glance back at the man on the bed he was walking out. His stomach was rolling like he was going to throw up any second and he’d broken out into a cold sweat and there was an obvious shake to his hands as he quickly hurried back to his guest quarters, breathing uneven and ragged. It was over. So, why didn’t it feel like it?

“Ge?” It felt like he was trapped underwater. “Ge, wait up! I’ve been looking for you everywhere—“

“For gods sake, can’t I just have one minute of peace?” Sicheng had always been rather quiet for the most part, unless he was with his brothers. He rarely even needed to raise his voice to get his point across back home. Sicheng had never snapped before, certainly not at his men — his brothers — but that was exactly what he’d just done. There was a sharpness to his voice that he’d never directed at Yangyang before, the words ringing in the air between. By the time he realised what he’d done, it was too late. “Yangyang—“

“I’m sorry, My Lord, I should’ve known better.” The pain in the other’s voice ripped at his heart and all Sicheng could do was watch hopelessly as the other turned away and left, leaving him all alone just as he’d asked. His eyes stung desperately as he gritted his teeth and tightened his knuckles to the point of pain around the door handle. Gods, why couldn’t he ever just do the right thing? Why couldn’t life cut him a break? The more he wanted to reach out and take their hands the more he seemed to find himself pushing them away over the years, especially in the moments when he needed them most.

They could never know about this. Sicheng would never let them know about this. It was the mantra he kept repeating to himself as he sat in the now-cold water of his bath and scrubbed every inch of his skin raw to the point it began to pinprick blood. He’d long since rinsed away any remnants of their bargain, but Sicheng couldn’t stop. He could still feel it. Every touch, every sickening caress — it clung to him like a greasy film he simply couldn’t rid himself of. He felt _dirty_. It’d even a long time since he’d entertained it as more than just a passing thought, but all Sicheng wanted to do was go find his brothers and curl up with them, to cry out his pain and anger and let them comfort him, but he _couldn’t_ , because he had to be strong for them. He couldn’t afford to be the little boy who’d let Kun braid his hair or cry on Yukhei’s shoulder, not anymore.

By the gods, he missed Yukhei so much.

“About last night,” Sicheng broached the next morning as they got ready to depart for home, his brows furrowed but the distress of last night carefully stored in the back of his mind (or so he tried to tell himself). “I’m sorry. I was tired, but it was no excuse to snap at you like that. I didn’t mean it.” Yangyang stared at him for a few long seconds before he burst into a wide, carefree grin and slung an arm around his shoulders. Sicheng tried not to flinch at the touch, but he couldn’t stop his stomach from wanting to heave in protest.

“It’s fine, I know you didn’t mean it. We were all keyed up last night.” Well, that was one way to say it.

Sicheng couldn’t wait to leave this place but leaving meant saying goodbye to Kun again, likely for a few more weeks, which, right now, was the last thing he wanted. He knew that it was good to build good relations and that Daiyu seemed to favour Kun, even if she despised him particularly, but he missed the elder more than he could express. He felt so fucking lost without him, now more than ever.

Two unexpected additions followed him home this time, though. Sicheng was more open to trade than most factions and had tried to encourage it as much as he could given that his predecessors had all but rejected it, but if there was one thing he wouldn’t condone it was the trade of such creatures. The tigers were . . . well, wild was an understatement. Two young males who were still a little lanky but more than capable of ripping a man to shreds, and to add to their lethality an absolute hatred of humans, not that Sicheng could blame them in the slightest, especially not when he’d seen the tiny, cramped cages and the spiked collars around their throats.

The traders had been on his side of the border. Sicheng hadn’t paid for them. No, he’d taken them off the trader’s hands in exchange for their lives, as he had the menagerie of other creatures they’d been transporting through his territory. The others had been set free, but two starving juvenile tigers who wouldn’t know how to hunt or survive in the wild was something he couldn’t let go ignored. So, they were taken to Weishen and, at first, put in one of the holding rooms below the house.

No one could get near them to remove the heavy collars digging into their throats or the chains. That first day, when he just locked himself away in his room and spent hours fighting to pull himself from darker thoughts, all they could do was throw meat through the barrier to keep them fed. He wouldn’t let himself be broken over this, not when it was so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Sicheng had made more bargains in his life than he could count, some of those things more horrid than any man could ever be, and his body . . . what did it matter, anyway? For once, though, he found himself struggling to compartmentalise.

The second day it was Sicheng who carried down the large bucket of food they’d prepared for the creatures with heavy circles under his eyes and dullness to every movement that had his remaining brothers exchanging glances when they thought he wasn’t looking. He knew they were wondering how he’d manage to rectify the situation, but they’d just have to keep wondering. “I’ll be busy for a few days,” Sicheng murmured softly, “try not to let them get into too much trouble.” One of his hands came up to gently ruffle through Renjun’s brown hair and he offered the faintest twitch of his lips. It took a monumental effort.

“You’re starting to sound like Kun-ge,” the younger pointed out with a sharpness in his eyes; Renjun had always been incredibly perceptive, perhaps too much for his own good. “Look, about the other night, I know we’ve already apologised but I really mean it, ge. You know I would _never_ — they just— I’m sorry, I know it’s not an excuse but—“

“Renjun,” Sicheng interrupted. “You have nothing to apologise for. It’s . . . it’s not your fault.” Sicheng tried not to think too much about the gravity of his own words and squeezed the shorter male’s shoulder before he balanced the bucket and closed the door behind him.

There’d be no point in trying to say it hadn’t been scary. Sicheng was still, at his very core, human, and it was a natural human reaction to fear that which could hurt you. If the tigers came at him he could probably stop them without much effort, but . . . they’d already been hurt so much throughout their lives, he didn’t want to add to that pain. Of course, they didn’t know that. They roared and snarled the moment he entered the room and made faux lunges as those large teeth were bared at him. There was a wildness in their eyes he’d never seen up close, but Sicheng realised as he stared into them that it wasn’t rage or anything born of true malicious intent; it was pain; fear. The knowledge that they could trust no one but each other.

“You’re not monsters, are you?” Sicheng found himself murmuring quietly as he slowly lowered himself into a crouch against the far wall, his eyes burning. He could practically feel it — their suffering. They were the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen, creatures which should’ve been admired and adored rather than shackled like beasts and used for the entertainment of humans. They weren’t oddities to be gawked at, they were to be respected. Revered. Dangerous, undeniably, but absolutely stunning. Rather than seeing it that way these people had made them bleed and bruise, and beyond even that they’d left them with scars that went far beyond anything that could be seen on their skin.

Sicheng didn’t try to reach out to them, nor did he move any close. Instead, he settled himself on the cool stone floor which eased the crawling under his skin and nudged the bucket as close as he could with his foot before watching. At first, they didn’t touch the bucket, far too interested in trying to show just how big and terrifying they were, but Sicheng was nothing if not patient. He sat, and he waited, and he waited. After a very long time, the room fell into a relative silence that was only disturbed by his breathing and the wet crunches and tears of flesh and bone as they feasted.

“I won’t let anyone touch you, not ever.” Sicheng’s voice was barely audible but it was rolling with conviction. Conviction and rage and pain, both for them, and . . . and himself. He could not make that promise for himself, not when his brothers were at stake, but he could at least make it for them — he would never let anyone harm them, not whilst he still drew breath. Hell, he’d protect them with his life.“Things will be how they should’ve been from the start.”

The sorcerer despised the way that his throat ached, a heavy, agonising sensation which spread down to his chest; it took him a few moments to realise that it was also accompanied by hot, angry tears which spilt down his cheeks in steady streams, soaking his shirt. Sicheng had been strong for as long as he could remember, and he’d always done so for others. He’d never let himself break — he couldn’t afford to. But here, all alone save for a pair of wild tigers, he found that he couldn’t hold himself together anymore.

Gods, it was a good thing the room had been silenced; if it hadn’t the whole house would’ve been filled with his screams. They were the sort of noises which would haunt anyone who caught wind of them, the sort that made your skin crawl and evoked such a primal feeling of wrongness and pain. They were absolutely agonised. Desperate. Angry. Sicheng let out every emotion which he’d shoved down or pushed aside or bottled up over the years and, for the first time in so long, he let himself mourn the injustices the world had dealt _him_ , not just others. He thought of the years of canings he’d gotten for daring to be different, for simply being himself, the years of taunts and ridicule and insults, the disgust and humiliation, the anger. He let himself think how it wasn’t fair, how he’d deserved better, not because it was him but because no one could deserve what he’d endured. How the lies and lies kept building, how they turned into his dirty little secrets, how each one weighed on him to the point that he wasn’t even sure who he was anymore. He’d been ripped apart and put back together time and time again, and now he was just . . . someone. Something. A collection of secrets and horrors and pain twisted into some semblance of a human being.

After what could’ve been hours, Sicheng slumped down to the cold stone with quiet, agonised sobs that wracked his whole body and squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. Would it ever end? All he’d ever dreamt of was a world where he and his brothers were safe and happy, but it’d never seemed more unattainable. Yukhei was gone. Kun might as well be. No matter how hard he tried to fight the traitorous whispers in his mind he couldn’t help but feel like the younger boys didn’t need him anymore, not that they ever really had in the first place. He’d die for them all in a heartbeat, but _this_? This slow, painful death that he had to endure, one where he felt every little peace of himself slowly wither away until he was left nothing but an empty husk . . . sometimes he wanted to run away from it all.

Warm, muggy breath washed over his face and he didn’t have time to open his eyes before a rough tongue dragged over his cheek, washing away the tears that had settled there. Sicheng didn’t dare breathe as he was cleaned, nor as two warm, furred bodies settled around him with soft chuffing noises falling from their throats. More tears fell, but these ones were less frenzied.

They didn’t judge him for his weakness. Hell, maybe it wasn’t weakness to them. Here, in the privacy of this room, he didn’t have to pretend.

It wasn’t perfect. They still flinched whenever he moved. There were a lot of warning growls, lots of snarls, and a few times heavy paws swiped his way; most of the time he managed to move to the side but sometimes they caught him and left heavy bruises or deep cuts. Even so . . . it was easy to love them. Sicheng knew that they didn’t want to hurt him, specifically, but that they were lashing out because that was all they knew how to do, and the only way they could deal with the pain. Healing wasn’t his forte but he still tried his hardest to heal the physical wounds they bored when he could get away with a careful touch here and there. It’d been a long time since he’d felt anything less than awkward offering comfort, but it was easier with animals, his fingers ever so carefully carding through their hair and working through the matted patches there. Sicheng almost sobbed with relief himself when he finally managed to get those shocking collars off their necks, the raw skin and patches of blood-matted fur showing the deep wounds there from the spikes.

“You’re safe here,” he promised. “As long as you want it, this house is yours, just as it’s mine.” Weishen had always felt like a prison to him but Sicheng hoped it’d be different for them — they’d have the choice he’d never had, after all. To leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!~
> 
> as always, I don't have a beta, so apologies for any mistakes.


	3. chapter three | yuta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let it hurt until it can't hurt anymore."  
> — Liam Ryan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was seventeen thousand words and counting, so I had to chop it in half, and there's still so much more I wish I could've covered just in this chapter. As much as I wanted to cover Yuta and Taeyong's meeting and their time together, I made myself stop, because I want to do it justice in the form of a small fic that'll be posted at a later date. Why do I keep making myself more work? 
> 
> sorry for the delay in the update, I just really didn't want to put out something I was completely dissatisfied with, especially because this story means so much to me. I hope you're all doing well and staying safe.

Yuta was halfway through hacking at a young sapling that he needed to finish his latest project — green wood, especially young, was far more pliable — when the forest began shouting. Not _literally_ ; the forest simply sounded like a forest, at least out loud, but the absolute cacophony that exploded in his mind was overbearing for a few seconds, so intense that he stumbled and clutched at his temples. Screams and shouts erupted in his consciousness as the trees began to sway dangerously, their roots writhing under the soil. Something was wrong and the forest wanted him to know about it.

He felt it before he saw anything: the sheer force of the magic that was rolling through the forest in heady waves was enough to take away anyone’s breath, and it was a magic that was extremely distinguished from the usual energy he felt out here. It was raw, unfiltered magic that was distinctly fae — a far cry from the hungry tendrils of the forest. It was strong, too. Extremely so.

Yuta ran through the tangled trees faster than he’d needed to in years, head pounding and heart racing as he got closer and closer to the source. Had someone come for him? Or was it somehow another fae who’d been banished here, maybe someone trying for the Hunt who’d ventured in too far? The latter was near impossible given how far Yuta had buried himself into the wildlands. He hadn’t seen another person in more than a decade, now.

Well, it was indeed a fae, just like him, but this was no fae he’d ever seen before. His body lay prone amongst a gap in the undergrowth, bloody and limp; despite the fact that Yuta had no idea who this man was and had no guarantee that he wasn’t here to kill him he found himself kneeling down by the white-haired male and gently turning him onto his back so that he could check him over for injuries. There was blood saturating him, a lot of it already dried, but with a large amount centred on his torso and rips in his clothing like he’d been hit. Underneath there was nothing but bloodied skin. No marks.

He was definitely young. Practically a baby by fae standards. What in the fuck was he doing out here all by himself? As if on cue there was a rustling in the bushes nearby and beady, green eyes peeked through the undergrowth. Maybe it’d been some sort of dog once, but not anymore. Saliva dripped from its maw as a heavy growl began to resonate throughout the forest and the stench of death filled the air. Rather than panicking, Yuta bared his own teeth and growled back.

The abomination scampered back off into the forest.

“You’re quite a mess, huh, kid?” Yuta pushed some of the stained white hair back out of the younger males face with a sigh before he shifted to sit down on his ass beside him with arms folded over his knees. “You’re lucky the forest seems to like you otherwise it would’ve left you to die.” Something about this boy had to be special for the forest to want him to find him.

Yuta’s magic didn’t really centre around healing or any forms of white magic but he was mediocre, at least, at this sort of thing. Given that there was no physical damage he focused on just sending small waves of his own magic into the unconscious man and trying as best he could to speed up the process of whatever was going on inside there; even if he didn’t know anything about why he was here or how he’d gotten here, he at least knew that the boy felt drained. Yuta couldn’t help but wonder what he’d been up to.

Perhaps anyone else would think he was crazy for sitting there on the ground with a body beside him as he talked to himself, but Yuta was beyond the point of caring what other people thought of him — and as for the talking to himself bit, what else was he supposed to do when he’d been blessed with nothing but his own company for so long? His babies helped ease that overwhelming sense of loneliness, sure, but they could never replace his own people.

Yuta missed . . . well, he missed it all. He missed his brothers, he missed _Johnny_ , he missed the boys he’d been mentoring and taken under his wing, and underneath all that was the simple fact that he missed having some semblance of purpose. After all, what was life without something to strive towards? To look forward to? Fae lived for such a long time that the days tended to pass quickly, yet each and every day here had dragged on for an eternity. Some days he couldn’t help but feel as though he was wasting away.

What did he even have to live for, really? Only a naive hope that one day someone would come back for him.

Yuta had long since given up on truly believing that was possible, which was why the sudden arrival of Taeyong crash-landing (literally) in his life was something he never could’ve predicted. Even during those first few weeks where the younger fae could only remember wishy-washy details about who he was and where he’d come from there was something that settled like a heavy itch at the base of his neck, something he could never really put his finger on. It’d been so long since he’d been around anyone that he was more than a little rough around the edges at first, but having Taeyong there (Taeyong, who was so kind and patient and eager to help him) was good for him.

The dark-haired fae helped Taeyong begin to properly harness his magic and, though he’d feared it, when his own magic became rather apparent due to the variety of creatures which scampered around his home and the way the forest responded to him Taeyong didn’t run. Well, running would’ve been stupid given that the forest probably would’ve eaten him if he wasn’t careful, but still; not only didn’t he run, he hadn’t even seemed concerned about his abilities. The long nights spent by his fire were filled with endless questions that were always filled with curiosity and wonder rather than fear and concern. The days were also broken up by Taeyong’s curiosity, but Yuta’s apprehension to answering them had dissipated quickly.

If he couldn’t have predicted Taeyong (though it often felt like a fever dream that he was even there) then there was no conceivable way he ever could’ve imagined what would come when the younger male finally opened up and told him the truth. All of it.

It half felt like a cruel joke. The universe punishing him. The other half made him wonder if maybe — just _maybe_ —it was possible that this was his second chance.

If it was then Yuta would be damned if he’d let it slip through his fingers; he’d failed Kangdae once (though his mind argued it was far more than that) and he wasn’t going to fail him a second time.

Taeyong differed from his older brother in an infinite number of ways but there were also small things that Yuta picked up on here and there which reminded him of the man he’d once served. His eyes, maybe, and the kindness that often shone through them. His selflessness. The way he seemed to trust Yuta so completely. For the first time in so long, there was a genuine glimmer of light in his life and Yuta grasped it firmly with both hands, refusing to let go. Taeyong hadn’t quite understood the gravity of what Yuta was offering when he dropped to one knee and offered to serve him until he no longer wanted him, but Yuta felt as though he’d understood the gist of it, at least, and how important it was for Yuta. Fae could not break vows, after all, and this was one only Taeyong could release him from.

And, so, Yuta did the one thing he’d sworn he’d never do unless he had to — he went back. As much as he’d missed the capital and everything that came along with it, he’d grown fond of the forest and simplicity of it all; more than that, his love for it had soured over the years. People he’d grown up with, who he’d laughed and cried and bled with, had turned their backs on him without so much as a second thought. The crown he’d served since he was a child had abandoned him. The system he’d been raised in and never questioned was something he realised was incredibly flawed. Everything had lost its shine in his absence.

—

It went about as well as he’d expected, which meant that he’d successfully snuck them both into the city but that in order to even get Taeyong an audience with the elders he’d been left with no option but to pull a bit of a sly one on his royal charge and get himself purposefully captured. Yuta was incredibly lucky they hadn’t just killed him on the spot like they were technically supposed to. It’d been worth Taeyong’s ire to see the look on those old bastards’ faces when he was dragged into the council chambers with a broken nose. Even more so when Taeyong stormed in, shrugging off his escorts and turning on them all without any fear.

“Don’t you dare lay another finger on him,” he’d all but hissed at them despite the power they held. Taeyong was often quiet and the type to avoid confrontation yet Yuta’d quickly realised that when it came to those he cared about there was a sharper, fiercer side of him that came out. “As if you all don’t have enough to answer for without roughing up my guard — do you have _any_ idea what you’ve let happen right under your nose all these years? The innocent people you’ve let be hurt, the pain and suffering you’ve facilitated?”

Yuta knew in that moment, as he watched Taeyong chew out those council members in a way that no one had ever dared before, that if Taeyong ever wanted the throne, he’d be the best king they could hope for. He also knew how proud Kangdae would’ve been of his baby brother.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got a bit of spunk, Your Highness?” Yuta hummed as the other healed him up later that evening as they sat in one of the lavish guest quarters at the castle. It was ridiculous that their Crown Prince was here tending to his injuries but no one had been able to deter Taeyong, not even the royal healers. Taeyong flushed at his words even as he worked.

“They have no right to treat you like this — gods, they should be begging for your forgiveness, Yuta, after what they’ve done to you. It makes me sick even being here knowing that—“

“ _Hey_ ,” Yuta interrupted softly, covering one of Taeyong’s hands with his own. “To be fair, they thought I was guilty. You know better than anyone how _he_ gets under your skin.” Every time he thought about Taeyong being the one to finally get rid of that monster he found himself blown away by just how incredible the younger was. “But yeah, they’re all assholes. They suck. You don’t need to stand up for me, Yong, but . . . thank you.” Yuta’s throat tightened a little as he offered the other a smile.

How long had it been since he’d had someone in his corner? Johnny, he supposed. Coming back here, Yuta had hoped that he’d get to see him again, but his brother was nowhere in sight, nor were the rest of the Hunt. The worst part was not knowing. Yuta would ask, he decided, though even as he started planning it he knew it was probably naive to think the people here would give him the answers he craved. Even now that he had returned with Taeyong in tow and had their prince’s pardon he would never gain back what he’d lost; he’d always be an outcast.

“We’re in this together,” Taeyong promised, “besides, how am I going to put up with all of these nobles by myself, huh? You fae are even worse than humans.”

“ _Us fae._ Don’t let anyone make you think you aren’t one of us, Taeyong.”

Yuta didn’t have much of a way with words in the grand scheme of things, but he had learnt how to manipulate and navigate the intricacies of the court since a young age, and that was something that was invaluable now. He wasn’t naive enough to trust a single one of them, not this time. He only ever offered enough pleasantries to be perceived as slightly civil and he didn’t bend to their whims like he once would’ve, like an eager dog ready to please its master. Yuta didn’t take orders from them anymore, after all. Just Taeyong. If Taeyong took a step, so did he. If Taeyong jumped, well, Yuta would follow suit.

The fae nobility had always been vicious and Taeyong didn’t get a free pass yet, as the days passed, Yuta watched as Taeyong took to it like a duck to water, brushing off their snide comments and not falling for any of their farces. Yuta knew that his prince doubted himself (not that he had any reason to) but looking at him you would never guess it. “I have people waiting for me back home,” Taeyong answered very softly one night after Yuta jokingly asked how he put up with all of it. “I’ll do anything to get back to them. Playing the part for a little while is nothing compared to what I’d do for them.” Yuta didn’t doubt it in the slightest. He knew that Taeyong would do anything, _be anything_ , for them — he’d already died for them once.

“They’re blessed to have you,” he murmured in response as something painful twisted in his chest. Oh to be young with a heart full of life and love; his was dark and empty these days.

It made something murky and bitter rear its head inside him each time Taeyong graced him with stories of those he loved with such warmth and love in his eyes, yet each time Yuta forced it down and smiled, listening avidly. He’d never met these men, but he felt like he knew them. Warlocks, something he’d never experienced in person. A king. Incredible fighters and lovers, albeit human, who treated Taeyong the way he deserved and were no doubt awaiting his return. Yuta would make sure that Taeyong saw them again.

—

Yuta didn’t care what they whispered behind his back anymore — he’d heard it all before. That being said, it didn’t mean that it didn’t cut deep in those moments where his armour grew weaker, cruel words from people he’d once adored slipping through the chinks to bury deep underneath his skin. They said he was cursed, that he was some sort of monster. They told each other hushed stories of what he’d done. Some still believed that he’d killed Kangdae. Others said he might as well have.

Sometimes, Yuta agreed with them.

He sat in the adjoining guard’s quarters in the dark hours between night and morning, staring out at the city he’d once adored and let memory after memory wash over him until the metallic tang of blood filled the air and he’d uncurl his fists to stare at the crescent shapes cuts in his palms. Yuta relished in every bruise that stained his skin after sessions with Taeyong where he tried to teach him how to control his newfound strength. When he was younger bruises had been a reminder that he was putting his all into his training and slowly becoming stronger, but now they were just a reminder that he was alive.

Sometimes Yuta laughed at how fickle he was. One moment he was thankful for the forest he’d called home and missed the solitude of it, the surety, and the next the thought of it made him sick; there was a part of him, a part that was too naive for this world, wanted to relish in the fact he was home, thought the other part of him recognised that this place had never truly been home and that it never would be. Some days he was thrumming with energy and the laughter he shared with Taeyong was genuine and flowed with ease but others it was bitter and tried to claw its way back down to his gut each time he forced it out. The good days never lasted long, not when the memories of why he didn’t deserve that lightweight happiness were never far beneath the surface.

Taeyong called him his friend, but how could Yuta ever be worthy of that title when he was responsible for the death of his brother — a brother he’d never even had a chance to meet because of him?

Yuta hated that Taeyong seemed to have a sixth sense for it. On the days he was more keyed up the younger male would always stick closer and bend a little more to his whims, even when he was probably going overboard with it all, and the nights where he’d be plagued by nightmares too horrible to even repeat he’d hear the little door between their rooms creak open before Taeyong would crawl up onto his bed and wrap his arms around him, face pressed into his back. It didn’t get rid of them, but . . . it’d been so long since Yuta had been able to trust anyone, and knowing that he could trust Taeyong to have his back, both literally and metaphorically, it made things just a little bit easier.

He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t get rid of his demons, though. Taeyong still couldn’t handle the sight of blood even if he didn’t react as badly (or at least as often) as those first weeks with him in the forest where even the smell would make him vomit and shake and cry. Each time Yuta had wiped away his tears and held him, because Taeyong of all people didn’t deserve such pain and, gods, if there was anything he could do to take it away he would’ve already done so a million times over. The best he could do was keep him alive and get him home. It wouldn’t stop Taeyong’s nightmares, either — because things were never that easy — but it was the first step towards him regaining everything he’d lost.

Yuta would do whatever it took to make sure Taeyong didn’t end up like him. No one deserved love and happiness more than him after everything he’d been through.

—

Once upon a time, the idea of going against the elders' decisions and risking their ire would’ve been absolutely unthinkable for Yuta, but these days the last thing he wanted or needed was their approval. He’d lost any sense of respect he’d had for them a long time ago. It’d put him back in their naughty book (not that he’d ever really been out of it even though they now knew that Seungyoun had deceived them), but wasn’t Taeyong worth it? It wasn’t a question that he even needed to think about.

Yuta was busy planning their sneaky little escape when there was a heavy pounding in the hall — his door, not Taeyong’s, which was what surprised him more than anything. Yuta didn’t have _guests_. No one wanted to have to be in the same room as him, let alone talk to him. Whoever this was, though, they were insistent, because they kept pounding and pounding as he grabbed one of the small blades he’d tucked under his mattress and slinked off towards the door; the fine hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood on end and his nerves sung as pure adrenaline coursed through him. It’d be smart of them to get him out of the way now. To leave Taeyong defenceless to their tricks and manipulations. Hell, in their place he’d probably do the same—

 _Oh_.

When Yuta slipped the door open, it wasn’t some unfamiliar guard in front of his door or an assassin sent to take him out, that he knew of. It was . . . it was Johnny. _Johnny_. The dark-haired fae stood there in shock as he stared at the older male. Rooted to the spot. Frozen. Johnny was the first to make a move by pitching forward and instantly pulling him into a bone-crushing hug that stole the breath from him. Pain wracked through him as his body finally began to catch up with what was happening but it was welcomed. Gods.

“Yuta, shit, I— I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t know what he was doing or that he was dead. I would’ve come to find you. You know that, right? I would’ve come the moment I knew but he’s been making sure I’ve been out on missions for years and no one told us until we got back earlier. I came right here, I— _I’m so fucking sorry._ ”

“Johnny,” Yuta finally croaked out as he squeezed back, his eyes screwing shut to try and fight the burn that wracked through his whole body. He’d missed Johnny so much that it was agonising. “ _I know_. I know, okay? It’s okay.” This was the man he’d grown up with for as long as he could remember, the man who he’d laughed and cried and sweated and bled with his whole life, and he was the only one who’d stood by him when the rug had been pulled out from under him.

His brother had never been much fo a crier, but there were definitely some tears tonight. Eventually, they broke apart and closed the door so that they could sit down and actually get a proper look at each other after over a decade apart. They were fae, so, for the most part, they’d barely aged during the years they’d been apart, but there were certainly still differences, not just in their physical appearance but in the way they held themselves, too.

Johnny had always had a mature, charming suaveness about him, but there was something in his eyes now which was sharper, colder, even with the wetness bordering them; his hair was a rich mahogany brown which was swept back off his forehead and a little messy, but it added to his appeal. Somehow he even looked taller. Yuta didn’t want to know what Johnny saw when he looked at him. The mere thought of it made him sick.

“You can’t stay here,” Johnny surmised after only half an hour of them talking, his jaw ticking as his shoulders set into something far more firm. “You won’t.”

“I . . . no. I know that he’s the king they need, but I won’t let them make him into something he doesn’t want to be.”

“I know. You’ve always put everyone else above yourself, Yuta, but this— it might actually be what’s best for you for once, too.” That made Yuta’s brows furrow a little. “Don’t look at me like that. You _know_ I’m right. Of course I want you to stay — all we’ve wanted is you back here — but our people . . . well, they’re not perfect. They’re not ready for someone like you. Can you honestly tell me that if you stayed here, that if you didn’t go with him, that you’d be happy?”

It was a pretty loaded question. Yuta wasn’t quite sure how to answer it considering that he wasn’t even sure when the last time he’d truly felt happy _was_. He wanted to impulsively shoot out an answer, but for Johnny’s sake, at least, he forced himself to swallow it down and actually think about his answer. What was there for him if he stayed, or even came back? Even if he were to be given his place back within the Hunt there wouldn’t be much. Johnny, maybe the juniors if he was lucky, but no one else. Nothing else. If he left with Taeyong . . . he couldn’t guarantee he’d have any more than that, it was all up in the air. Truth be told, it could all go to shit, but if it didn’t? If there was a chance that maybe he’d find some sort of peace? If he could be happy? Then wasn’t it worth it just to try, at least?

Yuta hadn’t said anything yet, but he felt like they both knew his answer already.

“Okay, good. Now that we’ve got that settled, let’s figure out how we’re going to break in.”

For the first time in years, there was true hope blossoming in his chest, but at the same time he knew that this was going to be hard. He’d just gotten his friend back — how could he just leave him? That being said . . . well, when had Johnny ever really needed him? Johnny would be fine on his own, and besides, this wasn’t the end, not really. He had a few hundred years left if he was lucky, which was a few hundred more chances to see him again one day.

“What do you think you’ll do once it’s over?” Johnny asked during the early hours of the morning, after hours of them pouring over plans and deciding on the crowning details of how he was going to smuggle Taeyong home.

“I don’t know,” he snorted, fingers drumming over the edge of the table. “I’ll stay with Taeyong as long as he wants me around, but that won’t be forever. Maybe I’ll go out and explore — I mean, there’s a whole world out there I’ve never seen other than our own.” Yuta was silent for a few seconds before he huffed a laugh, lips curling into a smile. “Maybe I’ll become a farmer.” That definitely made Johnny laugh, too.

“A farmer? Oh yeah, I can see that — you settling down in some little shack and tending to your crops day in and day out, coming home to some sort of sweetheart. Might as well go all the way and chuck some kids into the equation too.”

“Settling down?” Yuta half-cackled as he shouldered the older male. “No way. _Never_. I’ll be a rugged, mysterious farmer who seduces everyone’s spouses instead. I don’t think I could deal with being around someone that much.”

It was a bold-faced lie, but it was all he could ever hope to have.

—

In the end, he didn’t get a chance to introduce Johnny and Taeyong to each other, which, in his opinion, was a travesty. Yuta felt like they would’ve hit it off. They’d only had a small window of opportunity to slip through the guards and get to that portal and they hadn’t had any time to dawdle or doubt themselves. As it was he’d needed to blast his way through few walls, but at least Johnny had made sure the Hunt had been conveniently preoccupied during the whole escape.

They’d been spit out into a random town, far away from where their goal, and so the journey had continued.

Yuta found himself slowly falling in love with the human world. Humans were so odd. Greedy, yes, a little stupid at times, but it was endearing. There was something about them which Yuta had come to realise was so unique compared to his own people. There was a different sort of magic in absolutely everything. Here, Taeyong shone.

Yuta had thought the journey was almost over, but he’d never been more wrong.

First of all, Taeyong’s humans were an absolute fucking mess, and from memory Yuta had known there was supposed to be more of them. One was a raging alcoholic. One was extremely dysfunctional and had internalised a lot of pain and guilt. One was struggling under the weight of trying to hold it all together. Yuta had never been quick to make friends but, despite himself, he’d started to take them under his wing, too.

His teachers would probably have a stroke if they knew he’d started hanging out with a demon-blood. He was pretty cool, though. Taemin was a mystery but was fairly easy to get along with and so, even though being stuck with a bunch of idiots in love meant he’d constantly been forced to see and hear things that he definitely didn’t want to, their little trip across the ocean had been enjoyable. Yuta had definitely never been on the water that long before . . . hopefully he wouldn’t have to do it again for a long time.

The best part about the trip, though perhaps the most bittersweet, was Lucky. He couldn’t truly blame Sehun for shooting her down from the sky but there’d been a small part of him, nurtured by so many years embracing the wrath of the forest, that wanted to rip his throat out for it. Animals were the only true innocents in not just this world but his too, after all. He’d settled for a heavy glare and had headed down below deck to carefully remove the arrow from her limp body and let his magic reach out. He’d never tried something like this away from the surety of land and nature, and Yuta found that it definitely took a lot more work without something to draw from; in the end, he’d sacrificed a little bit of blood to fuel the process and repair what had been broken. He’d gotten odd looks when he’d emerged with the crow very much alive and preening on his shoulder, but Lucky was a pleasant reminder of what he’d left behind, that connection something he’d missed.

Following Taeyong here to Weishen to try and round up his runaway lovers was one thing, but he’d never expected this: walking into an understated throne room (because, really, what else could it be called?) to come face to face with the most gorgeous creature he’d ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. Yuta’s mouth went dry as the world faded away around him, his sole focus on _him_. The man on the throne was utterly breathtaking. He was all sharp edges juxtaposed by softer features and a framed with black and red, emanating that overwhelming, ethereal aura of something Yuta could only describe as a dark angel. It was so easy to read the souls of humans, but Yuta had never seen one who’s soul burned so bright that it was reminiscent of a supernova. Maybe the sun was a better metaphor, considering the way Yuta could feel himself being dragged into orbit; it was like the whole centre of his universe had shifted within a few short seconds.

 _Sicheng_. That was the name Kun spoke. It gave him a name to put to his gorgeous face rather than just the title he’d heard on the way here, and Yuta felt like it suited him. Sicheng. He wanted to repeat it over and over again until it was burned into his memory.

The sheer power that was radiating off of Sicheng was enough to make him want to drop to his knees for the simple fact that he’d never felt anything like it before. There was a small part of him in the very back of his mind that whispered that it was wrong, that it was unnatural, but who was he to be the judge of that? This was the sort of power that was born of natural talent first and then amplified by deal after deal with creatures so vile that very few could go through with it. The weight that it had on a human soul . . . Sicheng was incredible.

Logically he knew that he should’ve been paying attention to what was being said but he simply couldn’t. All he could do was stare; it was inevitable that he’d end up being caught. Dark almond eyes met his own and seemed to pause for a moment, maybe surprised by what they saw there before they sharpened and turned icy. By the gods, he was even more beautiful when he was pissed. Was it wrong to think that? Probably.

Yuta had never been more jealous of anyone in his life than when he watched Ten drop to one knee in front of Sicheng and kiss his ring. What he wouldn’t give to switch places. As it was, he had to fight with himself to leave the room as everyone began to file out, but he still looked back over his shoulder once when he neared the door, heart hammering in his chest and skin buzzing with energy as he caught Sicheng watching him. That indifferent sneer was definitely hot, but Yuta wondered what it’d be like to see him smile, too.

“I think I’m in love,” he breathed out once the doors closed with a heavy _thud_ , a smile curling on his lips. For once there was something more than just teasing in his voice. Yuta hadn’t really expected such extreme reactions to his words but, if he was being frank, he didn’t really care. They just didn’t understand — not yet.

“You’re lucky Dejun can’t understand your jokes,” the one with blond hair — Kun — warned in a tight voice which was far less friendly than anything he’d offered so far. In a way, he was almost offended that they thought he was joking but Yuta supposed it couldn’t be helped. His pulse was still jackhammering away as he twisted his head back to look at those solid red doors, wanting nothing more than to walk back through them, to have those savage eyes on him once again, to feel that heady thrill. It was more potent than any addiction could be.

“I’m not joking,” he reassured as he turned back, eyes twinkling with something mischievous.

“Hyung.” Mark looked just a little bit pale, which made him squeeze the human’s shoulder, but the kid was still looking at him like he’d grown a third head. “He looked like he wanted to _gut_ you for smiling at him.” Yuta grinned even wider, so wide it physically hurt, but the ache was welcome.

“ _Exactly_.”

Blondie still looked like he wanted to smite him where he stood. It was cute, really, like a puppy barking at him. Kun couldn’t hurt him if he tried, but his Master . . . well, Yuta would be more than happy to take a few blows from him. “You’d do well to keep your affections to yourself, fae, if you want to keep your head. Sicheng won’t take lightly to them, and neither will the others.” It was a warning, and despite what he was Yuta knew that it wasn’t something he should dismiss instantly, especially not just because they were human. Sicheng certainly didn’t seem like the sort to be swayed by cheap tricks of flattery and these men, some of them just boys in his eyes, were obviously incredibly precious to him. It’d do him good to earn their favour, too, especially if that could potentially make Sicheng see him in a better light.

At least he got a room to himself. The last thing Yuta water after being trapped on a ship with those men was to then have to share a room with one of them during their stay here, too. Worse than that, he really didn’t need to _hear_ them going at it like rabbits; they really weren’t good at being quiet. At least they had each other back now, though. That was all that mattered. Still, he didn’t want a roommate. He needed time to think, time to plan — to figure out what the fuck was going on.

If it was just lust . . . well, lust could be explained, couldn’t it? Simple biology. Attraction. Desire. Yuta had probably felt all that the moment he looked at Sicheng, all rolled into one, but amplified far beyond anything he’d ever felt in his entire life. If Sicheng, in that moment, had told him to kneel, he would’ve. If he’d asked him to jump, Yuta would’ve asked how high. If he’d asked— well, Sicheng wouldn’t have had to _ask_ him to suck him off, because he would’ve volunteered quite happily despite their audience.

Well, maybe not with the audience. Something dark and downright nasty curled in his gut at the thought of anyone else watching,

The point was, Yuta had wanted other people before, briefly, but never anything like this. It wasn’t just that overwhelming desire which had washed over him, but something more perplexing and unfamiliar to him. He wasn’t romantic. He’d never had time to think about romance, even when his heart had its eyes set on Kangdae. When he’d seen Sicheng, though, he’d wanted nothing more than to make him smile. Laugh. To do stupid, childish shit like . . . hold his hand. Kiss him.

Worship him.

If wanting Kangdae had felt like a warm summer's breeze, wanting Sicheng felt like the most potent liquor running through his veins.

He knew the others were out and mingling, no doubt trying to learn more about the people here, but Yuta knew that’d be incredibly difficult if they could barely communicate with them in the first place. He’d never excelled at charms and enchantments but he’d passed all his classes and had the basic knowledge necessary to at least start trying to fix that problem.

“You look exceptionally gorgeous tonight,” he hummed lightly that night when they prepared to set out to find Lucas and Sicheng joined them. He knew the sorcerer didn’t know what he’d said, but the look of indifference on his features only motivated Yuta to double down his efforts when everything was said and done.

If only his teachers could see him now, huh? They’d said he’d never be able to do advanced enchantments if his life depended on it, but Yuta had defied all odds and tweaked an existing one to fix his current dilemma. The small, handwoven necklace hung around his throat for a few hours before he actually got to test it out properly. To be completely transparent, he hadn’t even realised it _was_ working at first, if just because it felt so natural to hear everyone else talking and be able to understand what they actually meant. This changed the game entirely.

Yuta honestly couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so excited over something. His whole body was buzzing with energy the entire day and, when the sun finally started to dip below the horizon, he disappeared from the dining hall rather than hanging around to be carted back to his room and headed up to the roof. It wasn’t an overly easy task given that there were multiple stories and no real way to access it from the outside, but he was fae — if he couldn’t do it, who could? It included hanging off a few balconies and avoiding people walking past open windows but he got there, and gods was it worth it. He managed to traverse the rooftop without falling through and eventually found a spot to his liking which was at the edge of what seemed like a considerable courtyard, one he’d never come across in his explorations. Looking down at it . . . it reminded him of the wildlands in a way. Raw, beautiful and untamed, if a little wilted.

Sunsets in Weishen were, dare he say it, even more beautiful than his homeland. The sky was filled with breathtaking shades of red and orange that seemed brighter than anything he’d ever seen with his own eyes, fading to almost purple before the sun disappeared completely. The only light that reached him was that of the moon and stars. It was infinitely peaceful.

Until a familiar voice spoke up behind him hours later.

“You have no idea how tempting it is to push you off.” Yuta smiled, his face hidden since his back was facing Sicheng, and he had to stop himself from laughing, which would give away the fact that he could understand what he was saying. He pretended to jump a little and finally turned, leaning his weight on one arm as he shot the other male a leisurely smile. Sicheng looked even more beautiful in the moonlight, and tonight he seemed less troubled than last night in the forest, but still something seemed to weigh on him. Understandable, given the situation with Lucas. They had him back, but that was only the start.

“Lovely to see you too. Did you do something different with your hair? You look even more handsome now, but that might just be because you’re staring at me.” Of course, the enchantments were one way. There was a matching necklace tucked into his pocket that had been made specifically for the other male, but . . . well, isn’t it safe to have a little fun, first? Besides, he wanted to know what Sicheng said when he thought no one could understand him. He certainly seemed to be a lot more liberal with his words.

“You never stop talking, do you?” Sicheng muttered, expression heavily displeased. When he spoke again, Yuta realised that it must’ve been in the common tongue. “Rules. You can’t be out here.” Yuta feigned ignorance even though they both knew that he could certainly understand that. Instead of answering he shifted to the side a little and patted the spot beside him on the edge of the rooftop in a clear invitation.

“Leave.” Again, Yuta just cocked his head as though the word made no sense and waited expectantly, seemingly unbothered by the icy reception he was receiving.

“Don’t you think it’s a little romantic up here, just the two of us? Not a soul in sight except the moon . . . do you know the stories about it? Probably not, or at least not the ones I’m used to hearing. You probably have your own, not that you’re likely to tell me.” Yuta’s expression softened ever so slightly and he shifted his gaze back down the courtyard, legs swinging where they were suspended in the air.

He half expected Sicheng to leave — even if he’d asked him to stay he probably wouldn’t have, in fact, that was probably more likely to make him leave — but he didn’t. Instead, there was a soft rustling before another figure joined him on the edge of the roof, admittedly a few feet away. Sicheng had both of his legs crossed rather than letting them hang free and had his arms resting on his knees, expression focused on Weishen in the forest beyond that was bathing in moonlight rather than looking at him. Despite that, something warm fluttered in Yuta’s chest.

“I know you’re in pain,” Yuta murmured, barely above a whisper. “I can see it. Feel it. Your soul burns so brightly but there’s something eating away at you, and I don’t think it’s just Lucas. I don’t know how you do it, you know? Keep your head up with the weight of so many people on your shoulders. It takes someone special to be able to push past your own pain to keep leading.” He watched as Sicheng’s nose scrunched slightly in a way that he couldn’t help but see as endearing before dark eyes finally turned his way. They weren’t burning with hatred or disgust which was a mild improvement, but there was something there that Yuta couldn’t quite place.

“You’re infuriating,” the other spoke. Yuta’s heart sunk a bit. “You look at me like— like somehow you see _something_. Like you’re expecting something. You make no sense. They said that you—“ Sicheng pressed his lips closed and exhaled through his nose. “I’m used to tricksters. You’ll be no different than the rest.” It took every ounce of his self-control not to let the thunderstorm of emotions in his chest show on his face; even harder to make it appear like confusion.

Yuta wasn’t going to be like the rest. He’d make Sicheng see that but it’d take time. He just had to be patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always I don't have a beta so I apologise in advance for any mistakes!


	4. chapter four | sicheng

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I need to kill something in me, this awful feeling like worms tunnelling along my nerves."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this chapter,,,, is a whopper. It's also very painful from start to finish, so prepare for that. I promise this fic will get lighter, though, this is probably going to be the heaviest chapter in terms of pain (though the next two will be a bit angsty too as we catch up with bloodlines) and then it'll be comfort and fluff w only small pain
> 
> I try not to spoil things, but I am going to add some content warnings because like I said, very heavy. It's not much different than things I've written in the past, but due to the nature of Sicheng's character I understand some people may be more sensitive to these topics than usual:  
> \- general transphobia  
> \- some solid dysphoria  
> \- not so positive mindsets and self-destructive behaviour  
> BIGGER CWS:  
> \- moderate mentions and depictions of non-con, but nothing overly graphic and nothing extreme that happens  
> \- um, blood? gore? self-mutilation but not in the way you think?  
> \- mentions of pregnancy/pregnancies etc ( again not in the way you think)
> 
> I think that's all the major things I can think of, but if there's anything else you think should be on here, please let me know.
> 
> As always, this is fiction, this is all fictional and made up and doesn't represent anyone irl, they're just characters in a story. 
> 
> Hope you all have a wonderful day and good luck going into the new year!

Their country was vast, with large areas still left untouched by mankind, pockets of wilderness that were still desperately tucked away and that refused to be settled upon even after all these years. Mages and warlocks had been essentially nonexistent until ships had started coming across the oceans, but that hadn’t meant that they hadn’t had magic. No, they had, but their magic had always been different. No matter how many generations inhabited the land, their magic never diluted, never faded — it remained strong, just as they had, too. The Mothers, the first of them, the one’s who’d traded their souls for their magic, were revered and honoured even centuries later, elevated the status of gods in the eyes of their people.

Such magic should’ve resulted in their people prospering; for a time, at least, they had. Humans were greedy, selfish creatures, though, always craving more and more and _more_. Unable to be governed as one body in a country so large, unwilling to cooperate with each other, the factions had been formed. Countless factions existed these days — even Sicheng couldn’t hope to know of all of them. Besides, the ones he had to deal with were more than enough for him.

Sicheng’s territory was vast and included a considerable amount of the land which reached the ocean but there were others, too, which bordered the coast. The factions inland were, in a way, protected from the additional threats of the sea, but they were something Sicheng constantly had to keep in mind. There’d been disappearances in the past which had been linked to slave traders (especially the ones which travelled on ships) but he’d never really had a problem with such things.

Until now. People were starting to talk, whispering about the people being snatched away from the small towns and villages which fell under his domain. They were starting to ask questions, like why he hadn’t put a stop to it yet. To be honest, Sicheng didn’t know where to start. The disappearances weren’t just occurring in seaside ports but also in towns a little further into his territory that’d take days to reach from the shore by foot. There one moment, gone the next. They were predominantly children though the oldest so far had been nineteen based on the people that’d been brought to his attention, though for all he knew there could be dozens, if not hundreds more that he wasn’t aware of.

For the first time since he’d taken charge, there was quite literally nothing he could do.

He felt like it was understandable that he’d been in a worse mood than usual lately, though Sicheng couldn’t deny that the issue of the disappearances was only one of the many things that’d been weighing on him and adding to his stress.

He hadn’t seen Kun in nearly two months, which had been the night of the last summit, a night he’d pushed from his mind and refused to ever let surface again once he’d forced all the pain and shame from his body. Kun was too busy for him these days. Sicheng knew he shouldn’t be bitter, especially since this had all started for his own sake— no, for the sake of their people. Liu Daiyu had always been an arrogant, obnoxious brat, but she had the reigns of the territory bordering his, and considering the size and influence of her faction it was a good idea to have her on their side. Somewhere along the way, Sicheng felt like it’d become more than just politics. He . . . he was happy for Kun, truly, but his heart was cold and bitter, a withered husk of what it’d once been — he envied that Kun, that _everyone else_ , could have what he never would.

Renjun and Chenle were getting old enough that even despite the fact it was far from necessary they kept trying to worm their way into conversations that didn’t concern them as well as pestering him to be allowed _real_ jobs, not just basic things like supply runs and domestic works. Sicheng couldn’t deny that. Renjun was already one of the best sharpshooters they had, even at his age, and that Chenle was incredibly proficient with the sword that he’d gifted him last year for his birthday, but it wasn’t the point. Sicheng wanted things to be _different_. He didn’t want children to be warriors. He didn’t want to have their pain and suffering on his hands. He wanted it to be better.

Then, there was ZItao. Sicheng had been incredibly young at the time but he could still vividly recall the absolute uproar that’d taken place when he and Luhan had run off all those years ago without much warning. To some, it’d been a surprise, but anyone who’d known them should’ve realised that it was far from it. Tao had been plagued with horrific nightmares since he’d been just a child and they’d only gotten worse the older he got. The beatings he’d gotten from their matrons alone would’ve been enough to drive anyone away, and Luhan? Luhan would’ve followed that boy to the ends of the earth. Well, he did.

Nine days ago, out of nowhere, a tall, dark stranger had walked past his wards like they were nothing and had dropped down to one knee, feline eyes sharp and intense as Zitao had asked for the _honour_ of serving him, now that he was their Matriarch. There’d been no Luhan in tow, and when the inevitable questions had come he’d brushed them off easily with an explanation that he’d perished on their journey. Sicheng had seen the pain in his eyes, though.

It wasn’t that he’d trusted him instantly. No, he’d been incredibly wary of this man who’d appeared with seemingly no magic yet could do things that no normal human was capable of; what was even more suspicious was the fact that he’d returned spouting absolute nonsense about gods and acting prophetically. Zitao wasn’t a friend, not yet, and he didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him, but . . . he was like a breath of fresh air.

Zitao was talkative and cocky, but not obnoxiously so, and despite his habit of running his mouth, he was a diligent listener. He was incredibly smart and perceptive and often offered advice that was genuinely helpful rather than just telling him what he wanted to hear. Before, it’d been Kun who’d been by his side and been his voice of reason, but he hadn’t had that, really, in over a year. Even when he’d been shifting between territories he’d always been distracted. Things were getting better and his brothers were adjusting to this new world they were building, but Sicheng felt more and more as each day passed that there wasn’t a spot in it for him.

“Think about it,” Tao posed as they walked through the main road of one of the towns closer to Weishen House, a few dark nails scratching at his chin, “who has the most to gain from your people going missing?” It was a fair question, and one he’d considered before, but perhaps not with that exact wording — perhaps that was exactly why he’d always come up empty. Slave traders gained the most by taking his people, but that benefit would be the same no matter who they took or what faction they were under the protection of. Who benefited the most from _his_ people going missing?

Sicheng paused in his step, brows furrowing as he glanced over at his companion. “Daiyu. Her territory is the only one we border that’s big enough to consider competition; if Weishen were to fall, she’d be the only one with the means to take over and maintain a presence here.” As soon as he said it realised just how much sense it made and he couldn’t help but wonder why he’d never thought of it— no, he knew why. She wasn’t exactly an ally by any means but they did have a tentative truce and, more than that, Kun was an active ambassador between their factions. If anything of that sort was happening then surely there was no way he wouldn’t know about it, and if he knew, well, Sicheng knew that he’d report on it.

Right?

“We’ve found nothing that suggests them,” he pointed out as he pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes troubled.

“Of course we haven’t,” Tao snorted. “She’s too smart to leave clues behind. I bet you everything I have that she’s behind it all, My Lord; she’s like a vulture. Liu Daiyu isn’t powerful enough to take down her targets herself, so she manipulates others into doing her dirty work and then swoops in once it’s done to claim her prize. You really think that Kun being her boy toy is going to change that?” Sicheng forced his gaze away. No, he didn’t. He knew that once she set her mind on something there was nothing stopping her.

He also knew that he couldn’t bring this up to his brother. Kun was . . . well, he’d been rather blindsided, as of late, especially when it came to _her_. Sicheng couldn’t say with any certainty that Kun would believe him without cold hard proof, and even then he wouldn’t _want_ to believe it.

“We can’t go pointing fingers until we have proof,” he finally spoke, “but we’ll focus our efforts there for now.”

Sicheng could’ve trusted his gut. He should’ve confronted her as soon as the pieces started falling together rather than waiting so that he could try and minimise the stress it’d put his relationship with Kun. He should’ve at least warned him of his suspicions.

Once again, he’d failed his brothers.

He’d never forget the moment those large oak doors were swung wide open as some of his people carried a bloody, broken body in before him — it’d be ingrained in his mind until the day he died. The world seemed to slow considerably as he caught sight of honey-blond hair stained with red and familiar features that were riddled with bruises and even more blood; blood which covered his whole body. The injuries he’d sustained were horrific, but all of it paled in comparison to his legs.

“Get him to the infirmary now!” He ordered as he pushed off his chair, motioning for Dao and Ping to stay behind. As in tune with his emotions as they were, they paced frantically, letting out loud snarls even as he all but ran out of the room after them. Nothing compared to the feeling of absolute dread and terror which had him tightly in its grip. Sicheng was no healer. His magic brought destruction and death, not _life._ He couldn’t lose Kun.

“Keep everyone else out,” Sicheng barked as he rolled his sleeves up and stopped in front of the table. Liena, their best healer, was the last through the door as he spoke.

“What about your—“

“ _Especially them_.” He sealed the door with a flick of his wrist and turned his attention back to the prone body of the man who’d essentially raised him. “I— I don’t— what do I do?” Sicheng managed despite the shake in his hands as Liena got to work. She was incredibly proficient and undeniably talented, but he was still nervous. He didn’t trust anyone else with their lives but himself. Today he needed her, though, to fill in the gaps of his own magic.

“We need to stop the bleeding if he has a chance of surviving,” she directed quickly, passing a small, surgical blade off to him, one with a rather broad blade. “Cauterise the deepest ones whilst I try to stop the flow of the others.” Sicheng followed her orders without question as he let his magic pool in his hand, heating the blade until it glowed near white-hot.

“I’m sorry, ge,” he whispered before casting a small binding spell. They couldn’t afford for Kun to move while they worked, and he could afford to have anyone else in here while they worked. Kun had remained unconscious up until this point but when he pressed that scorching blade to the large wound on his side his brother let out a strangled cry, eyes flying open but remaining dazed as he struggled against the magic holding him down.

The words that he babbled as he drifted in and out of the pain, interrupted by pained shouts and screams, were rather unintelligible, but Sicheng knew that a few of them were supposed to be a name that he really didn’t want to hear right now. How could he be thinking of her even now, after what she’d done to him?

Once they had everything sealed up enough that he wasn’t going to bleed out on the table, Liena turned to him with a solemn expression from where she was looking over his legs. Before she even opened her mouth Sicheng knew it was going to be bad. He could _see_ it. They were broken in more places than he could count — shattered — but in other places, they looked healed. Not healed right, though. Wrong angles, bumps under his skin, dark bruises. “If I finish healing them the way they are he’ll never have a chance at walking again. I’d be better off amputating them.”

“That can’t happen,” Sicheng rasped out. “He couldn’t take that.” Kun would be safe and well looked after regardless, but he knew his brother; he was the best swordsman that Sicheng had ever seen and it was pretty much an undisputed fact, even with factions that didn’t want to openly admit it, that there was no one who compared. He’d earned the respect of many over the years. Sicheng knew that losing his legs would kill him, regardless of whether or not they saved his life.

“What if I shatter them again?” He asked, barely above a murmur. “Will you be able to piece him back together?”

Leina’s eyes widened considerably and she paled as she glanced back down at his legs. “ _Hypothetically_ , yes, but the healing process . . . I can’t give you any guarantees. Even if he regains use of them and can walk, he’ll never be the same.” It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best chance Kun had after everything that had been done to him. It was this — a _chance_ — or what would essentially be a death sentence.

“He’s strong.” There was no one stronger. If anyone could get through this it was Kun.”You might want to look away while I do this.” Healing was not his speciality, but destruction was. Sicheng took a few steps until he was by the other’s head, pulling his sleeve down enough to gently dab at the cold sweat which was beading all over pale skin before he settled his palm on the other’s cheek. Kun was out of it again, eyes closed and lips forming silent words. He was utterly delirious from the pain.

“I’m going to fix this, gege,” he whispered, his eyes burning and throat tightening to the point that it felt like he couldn’t breathe. “ _I promise_. I need you to keep fighting for me, okay? I’m . . . I’m so sorry.” He was glad that Liena had turned away for the simple fact that it meant that she didn’t see the few tears he had to wipe away.

His magic was like second nature these days, something which was no longer a tool but rather an extension of himself; it was as easy as breathing to let it rise up from his core and flow through every inch of his body. It could already sense the weakness that was permeating the room and it wanted nothing more than to reach out and _consume_ , but he reigned it in. Sicheng had once told himself he’d never let himself hurt them, yet here he was. Did it count if it was for Kun’s own sake?

Kun’s screams were going to haunt him. That was all he could think of the moment his magic surged out. If the noises he’d let out before were pained, these could only be described as utterly agonised; they filled the air with desperation and anguish that was paramount as Kun tried to fight against invisible bindings that kept him pinned down. The screams almost drowned out the deafening sounds of his bones breaking under the force of Sicheng’s magic like twigs. It really put into perspective the damage he could truly cause and, for once, it terrified him.

When he was finished his power rushed back into his body with so much force that he stumbled, not bothering to hide the tears that had stained his cheeks during the ordeal even when Liena finally turned back around, looking particularly green, to finish the job. The screaming had long since stopped, probably after he’d passed out for the fourth time, and had been replaced by quiet, weak whimpers that were accompanied by movement behind closed eyelids; Sicheng moved out of her way so that she could take over and settled into a spot closer to his brother, gently carding bloodied hair away from his face and whispering constant apologies and reassurances, all the while topping up Liena’s magic with his own to help her.

It was a long, arduous process, but by the time they were finished Kun seemed to be in a more peaceful sleep and had been cleaned of all the blood and muck. Dark, vicious bruises still stained his skin, as well as minor wounds and other marks which would heal into thick scars. His legs seemed . . . relatively straight. He’d need to be off them for weeks, though, and keep them in their splints. It’d be a long road to recovery.

When Sicheng emerged from the infirmary, covered in blood despite how they’d cleaned his brother, there was a harrowing pain in his eyes — one that the others didn’t seem to notice over their concern for Kun.

“How could you do that to us?” Yangyang half sobbed as they all rose from where they’d been sitting on the floor, all stained with tears and red eyes.

“I couldn’t let you see him like that.”

“He’s our brother,” Dejun bit out, sharper than Sicheng was used to hearing. “You don’t get to make that decision for us.” It took everything in Sicheng not to crumble right there and then. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. The constant pain in his chest had opened to an aching chasm he wasn’t sure would ever close. There was rage, too, rage he could use to dampen some of the pain.

“He’ll be unconscious until the morning, at least, but feel free to stay with him. I’m sure he’d love to wake up to all your faces.” Sicheng averted his gaze and moved past them all even though the last thing he wanted was to leave — in that moment, all he wanted to do was seek out that comfort he’d once been able to receive. Was it really so wrong for him to want to be held? To be told everything would be okay? Perhaps, perhaps not, but he couldn’t. It was his job to be strong for the others, not to rely on their strength.

Kunhang’s hand caught his wrist as he passed, dark eyes still shining with moisture as he seemed to search for something within his gaze. “Won’t you stay?” He asked very quietly.

Sicheng wanted nothing more than to give in. “It’s better if I don’t,” he forced out, moving his other hand up to gently pat over dark hair before he pulled back all together— except, Kunhang didn’t let him.

“Please,” the younger pleaded, holding him tighter. “I know you’re angry, we all are, but we need to be smart about this. She has the support of all the major factions. Going against her will be pointless right now, and we need you, Sicheng. Kun needs you too — _here_.” Sicheng was at a loss for words as he stared at the other. Of course. They knew him well, too well, really. He knew logically that Kunhang was right, but how could he just let this pass?

“Don’t worry,” a familiar voice spoke up in a hum behind him as a hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing. Zitao. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything silly. You go spend time with your brother, and I’ll watch out for this one.” A silent exchange seemed to occur between the two, one that lasted a long minute but, eventually, Kunhang offered a small nod and let go of his wrist.

“Thank you,” he breathed before following the others into the infirmary.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Sicheng spoke up near-instantly, voice sparking a little. “I don’t need looking after.” He turned on his heel and stared up at the other.

“You’re right,” Tao agreed, “you don’t, but you’re never too strong to knock back help. The kid is right — going against Daiyu so openly is pointless. You want to keep them safe, right? That’ll only make them bigger targets. To beat her, you need to beat her at her own game.”

Sicheng’s brows furrowed. “How?”

Tao smiled — a wicked smile, one that held promises of danger and destruction.

—

All around him, flames rose high into the sky, gnawing away at the carcasses of the large boats and ships that they’d found docked in a rarely traversed bay inside Daiyu’s territory. Sicheng watched them burn for what felt like hours before he pivoted on his heel, stepping over one of the bodies on the sand as a heady sense of satisfaction settled in his chest.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Tao chuckled as they left, slipping out the way they’d arrived and leaving a beautiful present for Daiyu in the form of her slavers, all slaughtered down to the last man.

Just like they’d found, Daiyu would have no proof, not unless she pried a confession out of his cold, dead corpse.

—

Sicheng wanted it to be enough. Blood for blood, and he’d certainly ended up with much more blood on his hands than Daiyu had, but it . . . there was a beast curled inside of him that was never satiated. It always sat just beneath the surface, restless and starving, crying out for _more_. All of those lives yet, in Sicheng’s mind, they still couldn’t hold a candle to the life of his brother. Daiyu had nearly taken Kun from him — not just when she’d left him to die on his doorstep — and he wouldn’t stop until she knew that same pain. Until she lost everything.

It served her right. She’d taken Kun’s heart, body and soul, and if Kun wouldn’t collect what he was owed then Sicheng would on his behalf. He’d offer her heart on a silver platter, preferably bloody and still warm. To think that once upon a time such thoughts would’ve made him sick.

He’d told himself that he’d put another bargain off as long as he could yet how could he be expected to do so with everything that’d happened. Sicheng couldn’t protect himself from everything, not that that was something that truly mattered, but he also couldn’t protect his brothers despite the fact that all of this had been for them. He needed to be stronger, and that strength wasn’t something he could cultivate quick enough to make a difference. If Daiyu convinced the other factions to act on their fear and storm Weishen they wouldn’t stand a chance, not really; alone, she was nothing, but her silver tongue had everyone running to her beck and call, eager and willing to do her bidding.

Sicheng would take on the world for them, but that didn’t mean he’d win, and if he couldn’t then it meant absolutely nothing.

Kun was finally up and walking after two weeks of being confined to his cot but it was with improved splints still in place to provide some more protection and crutches that were non-negotiable; even then he was only allowed an hour or so of time on them each day, something that they were all heavily regulating. Not that he could last an hour if he wanted to.

Sicheng could see how hard he was trying to be strong for their brothers but you’d have to be blind not to notice the tightness that never left his eyes or the way that, when he thought they weren’t looking, his eyes would fill with agony before he squeezed them shut. The physical pain alone was something that most people wouldn’t be able to bear, but Sicheng knew that what he was feeling in his heart somehow trumped that. No matter how much Liena healed, she’d never be able to take that away.

“I won’t fail you like this again,” Kun promised in a ragged voice with his head hung low and shoulders trembling visibly. Sicheng lowered the sponge in his hand ever so slightly and forced down the aching twinges in his chest as he leant forward to press his forehead gently against the elder’s nape. His skin was damp from the bath that Sicheng had been helping him with (because Kun couldn’t get himself in the bath by himself, let alone reach everywhere he needed without significant pain. Even his arms tired far too easy these days — something he kept reminding him was normal and would ease, considering it’d only been three weeks) but Sicheng didn’t mind in the slightest. His cheek pressed against the crimson moon that was etched into Kun’s skin and he let his own eyes flutter closed.

“You’ve never failed me, gege, not once.” _It was all my fault, Kun._ “You came home to us — that’s all that matters.”

That night he found himself reclining on Kun’s sheets as the other slept, staring at pale hair illuminated by the moonlight that drifted in through the window and carding his fingers through it. Sicheng leant his head back against the bedhead and inhaled little by little, letting the air fill his lungs almost painfully slowly as his thoughts drifted. Kun was the eldest; it meant that there’d always been such a heavy weight of responsibility on his shoulders whether he wanted it or not, and he’d always taken care of them, done what he thought was best for them, even if they’d despised him for it at times in the way children did before they were old enough to understand. It was his turn to be cared for, now.

Sicheng pulled the blankets up higher around his brother’s shoulders and made sure the windows were closed to keep out the icy chill of the night air before slipping from the bed and leaving him to slumber. It wasn’t like he would’ve been able to sleep in there, anyway; the mere feeling of another body beside him often made his skin crawl. Then again, he hadn’t been planning to sleep tonight, anyway.

Tao met him at the entrance to the room, lips pressed together thinly and dark circles framing his eyes as though he was troubled, despite the fact that he’d been the one who’d supported this idea in the first place. Sicheng had been summoning demons since he’d been considered a child and he’d had it fairly down pact, but Tao had brought with him knowledge about summonings and containment seals that he could’ve only ever dreamed of considering that most of the information was centuries old and lost to time. “Are you sure you want to do this?” The man asked as he entered and scanned his eyes over the circles already etched into the stone floor and the red candles surrounding it.

He’d moved his way up the ranks over the years. Even a weak demon could provide him with power most humans would never see, but that hadn’t been enough for him. Neither had the stronger ones. No, in order to continue defending the family he’d worked so hard to protect over the years he needed to go bigger, and Tao was the key to making that a possibility. Tonight, he’d summon a demon stronger than anything he’d ever had the power to do before. A minor demon, really, but then again, humans were never supposed to meddle in these sorts of things.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” Sicheng stepped into the circle and dropped to his knees in the centre before reaching for the small blade that’d been prepared for him. By the time he raised it to his wrist Tao was already fidgeting. He inclined his head towards the door. “It’s better if you’re not here for this. I need to have its full attention, and I don’t need any distractions either.”

“Of course, My Lord.” The door closed with a small thud and he let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding before digging the blade into the pale skin there. It was already marred with marks, scars so faint that they were only visible in the right light, and even then only if you were searching for imperfections. The shadows that dwelled in his body always knitted him back together well if only because they didn’t want their host to fall apart.

There was no fluttering of nerves in his chest tonight, only a steady numbness that had his eyes drifting in and out of focus as he watched his blood drip down on the central most sigil. Pale chalk began to glow, white at first and then red, the light growing stronger and stronger as magic seemed to crackle in the air around him, crawling over his skin like unwanted caresses. After a minute his ears popped and he worked his jaw before glancing up.

The creature in front of him looked like a woman, but Sicheng knew better. Behind those sultry eyes and a sharp grin was a demon who, given the chance, would tear him limb from limb. The only thing stopping them was the circle, his magic, and the sheer force of his will. Golden hair flowed down her shoulders in loose waves and reached her waist, framing green eyes and a body that any woman would envy. Her lips were painted a sinful red that reminded him too much of the shade Daiyu favoured, the one he was used to seeing smeared on Kun’s cheek.

“You’re a pretty one,” she purred as she dropped down to a kneel that mirrored his own. “I’m not used to such handsome summoners.” Her voice was positively dripping with temptation yet rather than buttering Sicheng up it made him feel rather nauseous. “What could you possibly want from little old . . . me?” The demon trailed off, brows furrowing as she cocked her head, staring at him as though she was staring through him, and then her grin shifted to something a little darker, a little more predatory and filled with interest. “Should I be flattered that The Matriarch has called me forth for a bargain?”

This was the first one who’d known him by name. Part of Sicheng was surprised, though logically he knew that it was inevitable with how many he’d gone through already. No human was stupid enough to summon demons these days, at least not that he knew of, and none of them more than once. Humans typically didn’t survive the process.

“No,” he answered plainly. “I didn’t specify what demon I wanted. I don’t care who I pull out of the pit, just that they can give me what I want.”

“And I know exactly what you want, little sorcerer,” she purred as she leant forward on her hands, face only a foot or so away from his with viper-like eyes shining green as she bit her lip. “You already have power that a human could only dream of but you want _more_.”

“Yes.”

“Our power isn’t made for your fragile little bodies. One day it’s going to be too much.”

“Then I better get things done while I still can,” was all he shot back, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “I’m not here for games. Give me what I want or I’ll throw you back in and find someone else who will.” The demon pouted at him in a way that was supposed to look sweet and innocent but fell short.

“No need to be so hasty, handsome, I just wanted to make sure that you have what it takes to give me what _I_ desire.” The hairs on the back of his arms stood on end as she half-crawled forward, face now hovering mere inches from his own as her magic crept up over his skin, gentle, teasing touches which were likely meant to soothe and subdue yet instead had every nerve in his body standing on end. “You’re a young, virile young man, Dong Sicheng. Mmm, yes, I think you’ll do. How about it?”

“How about _what_?”

A wicked grin, just for him. “Give me the means for a child of my own, little human, and I’ll give you enough power to keep your family safe.”

Sicheng visibly recoiled and shoved the demon back with both hands filled with magic that sent her flying back against the invisible wards of the circle with a grunt. “Damn, you pack a punch.” He wasn’t listening, though. His heart was pounding in his chest as he stood up and kept her at a distance.

“It’s impossible,” he hissed, bile curling in his throat, “and you know it.”

The blonde raised herself up off the ground and brushed invisible dirt off herself as she did so, looking faintly irritated but more determined than ever as she pushed against his magic with a leer. “Nothing is impossible when it comes to magic — you of all people should know that. All it takes is a kiss and I’ll have what I want.” Sicheng didn’t move at first, nor did he answer.

Could he really do this? A kiss . . . he’d done more for his family. In the grand scheme of things, it was nothing. But a child— a half-breed, tainted by his own magic, raised by a demon, twisted and moulded into the perfect servant. Sicheng swallowed thickly and forced his shoulders (and magic) to loosen ever so slightly. He didn’t even have to think about it, which probably meant he was a monster himself, something he’d never really denied. The child would be born from his magic, not his body, and considering it’d be the result of a bargain it probably wouldn’t be human at all. It’d fit right in.

“Just a kiss?” It was a question, but they both knew it also held his answer. The demon strode forward with slitted eyes that seemed to be filled with a twisted sort of joy and came to a stop in front of him— except she didn’t stop. Her hands reached up, one cupping his cheek in a way that made him swallow back acid and the other resting in the middle of his chest.

“Just a kiss, handsome. Our magic, nothing else, and then you’ll have what you brought me here for. What happens to it is none of your concern.” Sicheng took a deep breath and stared into those unnatural eyes. _Just a kiss_.

“We have a deal.”

His stomach was still rolling by the time he found himself leaving the room and there was a cold sweat that’d settled over his skin, something that Tao instantly noticed. “I didn’t hear any screaming.”

“It went perfectly,” Sicheng answered as he tried to rid his hands of their incessant tremors. “Your new ritual worked well. I don’t know where you learnt it, but keep it up.” He brushed off any of Tao’s concerns and headed upstairs despite the way the world was shifting underfoot to trudge back to Kun’s room. He would never know, and it was better that way. His brother was still fast asleep and snoring when he entered the room, and that was how he stayed as Sicheng sat on the bed beside him and buried tears in his hands, each breath filled with what felt like shards of glass that embedded themselves in his throat and lungs.

Sicheng would do whatever he had to. It didn’t matter what parts of himself he had to give away each time he stepped into that room, even if there would come a day when he had nothing left to give but his life; that, too, he would give freely.

—

A week and a half later, after constant restless nights and nonsensical nightmares that are often interspersed with memories, Sicheng sat with his brothers at breakfast and poked lazily at the food he’d yet to eat. He’d been feeling off for a few days, but nothing too extreme — nothing like today. He swallowed thickly and ignored the feeling in his chest in favour of turning his attention to his brothers. Everyone seemed a bit more relaxed today, a little happier, and even Kun didn’t have that pinched, pained look hiding under his features as he sat with them, an arm around Chenle’s shoulders and a tired smile on his lips.

It was something. A small sign that things were heading in the right direction.

“We’re going to head to the tree today, ge,” Dejun murmured softly from his spot beside him, eyes a lot softer than they’d been lately. “Liena said if we get Kun on a horse we can take him, too. We could all go — for old time’s sake.” The tree — _their tree_. Growing up it’d been the spot they’d all escape to when life at Weishen became too much, which was a lot considering how things had been. Sicheng hadn’t been there in years, though. He was too busy, but . . . there was also the fact that he felt like he was an intruder there. He was no longer the boy they’d grown up with, the one they’d sworn to stand by no matter what, the one they’d loved unconditionally. The only bit of that boy who still remained was the part that would still do whatever it took to make a better life for them.

Sicheng offered a tense curl of his lips and looked away, not able to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry, Jun, I have a lot to do today. But . . . it’ll be good for you all to go. Good for Kun.” To avoid having to say anymore he shifted to pick up his fork again and shove a bunch of the steamed vegetables on his plate into his mouth. He didn’t feel too hungry but he knew he needed to eat — he could get through it, right?

Wrong.

The moment that the food touched his tongue his whole stomach lurched, bile rising up in his throat. Gods, it— Sicheng forced his mouth closed and tried to hide the way he was struggling not to vomit as he chewed them the bare minimum before swallowing them down. The moment they hit his stomach the nausea only intensified.

“—can’t you put things aside for just one day — for us?”

“I need to go,” Sicheng suddenly blurted out, pulse pounding in his ears so loud that he barely heard Dejun speak, or the worried questions that were directed his way as he loudly scrambled out of his chair and then out of the dining hall altogether. He barely managed to last until he reached the steps outside and as soon as his feet were on grass he buckled over, clutching his stomach as those damned vegetables, and anything he’d eaten yesterday, made a second appearance.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, retching, but at some point a hand settled on his back, rubbing gently before a soft rag dabbed at his mouth. “Are you okay?” Tao asked quietly, rather than asking what was wrong — still panting, Sicheng turned just enough to face him, and the worry on the other’s features caught him off guard.

“I’m . . .” he trailed off as his mind raced. He hadn’t been sick for years, not since he’d started making deals with demons. They’d made him stronger, physically and magically, to the point that his body simply didn’t function like it used to — sometimes he wasn’t even sure it was completely human, not with all the malevolent energy that he’d let take hold. Nothing had changed. Nothing was different.

Sicheng frowned, all of a sudden, his whole body going absolutely rigid. No. _No_ , it couldn’t be, he was— this hadn’t been—

The hand on his stomach shifted slightly higher and he let his magic shift forward until it was right under his skin, flowing through his body like an ongoing current, searching and searching and searching until it found . . . something different. What he could only describe as a spark. No, that wasn’t right— the word spark held positive connotations as far as he was concerned, and so that wasn’t the word he would use. It was . . . it was so dark, darker than anything he’d ever felt in his whole life, and that was saying a lot consider the creatures he’d faced.It was warped, twisted, _wrong_. His magic was nothing compared to _this_.

Sicheng stood up, hands trembling, and wiped his mouth once again as Tao stared. Oddly enough, there was a knowing look in his eyes, and that was how he realised that, somehow, Tao knew.

“You don’t breathe a word of this to anyone,” he hissed, eyes burning with a million different emotions, but predominantly rage. Zitao must’ve seen something in his gaze because he nodded quickly, taking a step back.

Stupid _fucking_ demons, always twisting their words, always trying to deceive you, and stupid fucking _him_ for not thinking it through and acting on desperation. His fury was palpable, which was probably what had the tigers so worked up, pacing and snarling outside his closed-off bedroom as he paced around, picking up things and slamming down others, a small pile growing on his bed. The means to have a child, it’d said — but it hadn’t specified what means. Strike one. Just a kiss. Strike two.

 _Whatever happens to it is none of your concern_ , it’d said, though, which was why there’d be no strike three. Sicheng had upheld his part of the bargain, albeit unknowingly, and whatever happened from here on out was of no consequence.

Logically, he could just go to Liena. She probably had infinite knowledge of this sort of thing.

No one could know, though. _Never_. It would only raise questions, questions he refused to answer. They could never know because he knew the pain that he’d cause them if they were to ever find out.

Sicheng stood in front of the full-size mirror in his room, and the man he’d become stared back. Dark hair contrasted against skin that was paler than usual, accentuating the soft shades of blue and purple which now surrounded his eyes, as well as a bit of redness. His throat led down to shoulders which were decently defined and broad after years of training with his brothers, especially before his path and darkened so considerably. His arms were long and slender with lean muscle. His chest . . . it wasn’t so bad compared to how it could’ve been, but there was still a little more softness than he would’ve liked. A constant reminder. The faintest planes of muscles graced his abdomen, framed by a waist that had always been thinner than he would’ve liked, making the faintest swell of his hips a little more obvious. Strong thighs, toned legs — it wasn’t so bad, if it weren’t for . . .

He could’ve changed everything. A million times over he could’ve bargained for the body he wished he deserved, but he hadn’t. Sicheng told himself it was because he couldn’t waste a single deal on himself, but sometimes, like now, he wondered if it was just another way of punishing himself.

Sicheng picked up the knife that he’d set on the table beside him. Accompanying the now empty spot he’d left was a bowl of warm water, some liquor, and something to try and stitch himself back together as his magic kickstarted the healing. He’d never tested just what it’d take for him to die, but was there ever going to be a better time?

The hilt turned over in his palm, slowly, and the blade glinted brightly in the dim, afternoon light of his room. Hours had passed. Hours of hesitation. Of avoidance. Was he scared? Maybe. Sicheng couldn’t be certain about anything right now other than that he needed to get this over with.

Dark eyes focused intently on his reflection as he set the tip of the blade, already sharp, against his lower abdomen, muscles flinching at the contact. He’d taken pain before. This . . . the would be a piece of cake.

Sicheng pressed down and watched as blood began to pool around the blade.

He was still in front of the mirror hours later when the noises outside his room grew louder and the door opened, but he wasn’t standing. The knife was discarded somewhere off to the side, coated in blood and, as was the dark wood beneath him. Sicheng was slumped with his back against the cool mirror, breath coming out in laboured pants and eyes a bit dazed as his hands, shaking and jerking everywhere, tried to close up the gaping wound in his abdomen. Somewhere along the way, something had gone wrong. There was too much blood. Not enough pain — not anymore, because at first he’d had to bite down on cloth to muffle his screams as he’d carved into himself. There were still tear tracks stained on his cheeks.

Sicheng looked up, barely able to support the weight of his head, and saw the look of absolute horror on Kun’s face as he took in the scene. He should’ve forced him out of the room rather than sealing the doors with his magic, but he . . . gods, he was scared. _Weak_. “Ge,” he managed, voice a near sob of desperation as he tried to direct more of his magic towards his abdomen. “Gege, I’m so sorry,”

Kun had been promoted from crutches to a cane only days prior, but his brother threw that aside as he limped forward, faster than would be comfortable, before dropping down beside him and instantly covering his hands with his own, desperately trying to stem the flow of the blood. “Sicheng, what are you—“

“No one can know,” Sicheng breathed, conviction creeping into his words despite his current state. “No one. Promise me, Kun.”

“You need a healer. Gods— what did you do, why did you—“

“ _No one_ ,” SIcheng repeated, body spasming a little as he let out a quiet cry and forced more magic forth. Dark wisps began to creep up from the floorboard, lapping at the blood that’d pooled beneath him and finding their way up to his body. “Promise me, please.”

In the end, Kun did swear to tell no one, but Sicheng knew he never would have if he hadn’t forced his hand. Turned out that there was still a little bit of mortality left in his body, or at least more than he’d thought there was, because it’d been touch and go for a while. Kun had ended up covered in blood, too, lengths of cloth strewn around them as he stopped as much of it as he could whilst Sicheng held on, letting his magic do its work. It was a self-defence mechanism, it seemed, because healing was something he was inept at. The shadows were good at what they did, though, even if their healing was just as destructive as the damage he’d caused. It hurt more than carving open his own skin, tearing through muscles and flesh.

Kun had cried and cried even as he held him and tried to get him through it, wiping away his tears and humming crackled tunes that he used to sing for them as children. “You’re going to be okay,” he’d whispered, more like he was trying to convince himself than anything.

Eventually, the shadows faded back into his skin, leaving behind a far more reasonable wound that Kun managed to stitch up as best he could until it was just a raw, bloody line over his stomach crisscrossed with dark thread. Sicheng slumped into the bed where he’d been moved and let his eyes flutter closed as he focused on the fingers smoothing over his hair. “Sleep,” Kun urged, voice hoarse, “and when you wake up, tell me everything.”

It was the last thing he wanted to do, but it was the least he could do for Kun after what he’d just put him through.

—

Years later and that scar still drew his eye whenever he looked in the mirror, but Sicheng had made sure that it was his last mistake. The pain on Kun’s face, the desperation in his voice, the way he’d cried and held him close for hours when he told him the truth about not only his magic but how he got to where he was and what had led to that fateful day in his bedroom — he remembered it all. He hated knowing that Kun still worried, but at least he’d given up on trying to turn him away from his bargains.

The others knew about the bargains, too, because in his addled state he hadn’t forced Kun to keep that a secret, just the horror and blood. Sicheng had worried for so long that finding out the truth would mean losing his brothers, but he had to admit that if anything it’d brought them closer together. He . . . he didn’t feel like he was losing them, not anymore. Not like he had been.

Daiyu was still alive and well, much to his dismay, but he knew her time would come. Each time the factions met he’d endured them, only getting through because he could look right at her and think of all the ways he could make her suffer, one day.Time and time again he’d told Kun that he didn’t have to come but, after that first one where he couldn’t make it due to his injuries, he refused to miss one. They all stood by his side but they couldn’t protect him from the pain that wasn’t physical.

Each time she looked at him, Sicheng wanted to gouge her eyes out, and he didn’t pretend that he didn’t. He’d long since abandoned formalities with her. Knowing that he needed to be patient and bide his time didn’t make it any easier.

The bedroom door closed behind him — not his own, but the guest room he’d been given during their stay in Lin territory. Just being here was enough to have him on edge, but the chaos and constant arguments tonight had amplified that and left him with a pounding headache. Sicheng started removing his outer robes and laid them on his bed, each movement near methodical as he stared at the opposite window. He stopped the moment he heard the door open behind him. Sicheng whirled around, dressed in just his pants and a sheer dark undershirt which had been mostly hidden by the other layers throughout the night, and took in the face of a familiar man.

Yang Liqiang had defected from another faction nearly two years ago and had been loitering around in Daiyu’s court ever since, though it was only the last few months, from what he’d heard, that he’d caught her attention and taken his place in her bed. He was an attractive man with strong, dark brows and chestnut hair that hung around his face, reaching his shoulders in a rather shaggy cut. Strong cheekbones, sharp eyes, full lips. Sicheng wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Liqiang had been staring at him tonight, just like he hadn’t missed it the past two.

“What are you doing here?” His tone was cold and accusing. The other male simply flashed him a roguish smile which was probably supposed to make him swoon and took a few leisurely steps forward as his eyes raked over him. It made Sicheng’s stomach curl in the worst possible way. There was no missing the desire in the other’s eyes, but it wasn’t flattering, not by a long shot. Sicheng had experienced this more times than he could count. Men and women who saw a face they liked and wondered what lay beneath. Others who simply wanted to say they’d been in his beds and confirm what rumours were true and which weren’t.

“There’s no need to be like that,” Liqiang drawled, looking at him through thick lashes as he stopped a few feet away. “I saw you watching me, too. You don’t need to pretend.” His arms moves and Sicheng called on his magic, only to pause when— oh. Okay, not an attack, but arguably worse. There went his shirt. Perfectly formed, shredded muscles greeted his eyes, but all they did was make Sicheng snort, displeased.

“Get out. I won’t ask twice.”

Rather than picking up on the tone in his voice Liqiang grinned and moved forward again, expression ravenous. “Playing hard to get? You know just how to get me riled up.” Sicheng stared him down as the man stopped just a foot or so in front of him, close enough that he could smell him, and he had to fight down the vomit that tried to claw its way up to his throat.

“Put your shirt back on and leave, Liqiang, before you do something that gets you hurt.” Where were his tigers when he needed them? They were usually perfect for scaring off those who tried to worm their way into his bed, but he didn’t bring them on trips like these for their own sake. They still weren’t overly fond of people.

Stupid, _stupid man_. A hand reached out to touch his arm and he batted it away with enough force to hurt and a furious look in his eyes, one filled with disgust. Just like that, the charming advances shifted into something darker, something Sicheng wasn’t overly surprised by but had been hoping to avoid. Like Daiyu, men like this didn’t like being told _no_.

“Don’t act like you don’t want it,” Liqiang bit out, eyes now angry. “I hear what they say about you — what, aren’t I good enough? Do you only spread your legs for cripples these days?” Pure, unaltered rage flared up inside him and Sicheng opened his mouth to snarl back something cruel and undeniably threatening, but before he could the man surged forward and crushed their lips together, hands tugging him closer with one painfully holding his waist and the other curled in his hair. Sicheng bit down on his lip but it only seemed to spur him on, as did the way he slammed his arms against his chest to try and push him back. Without magic, Liqiang was undeniably far stronger than him.

He hadn’t wanted to resort to magic, because he knew that if he had to, it wouldn’t be pretty.

Liqiang tried to press their hips together and the hand on his waist slid down to his ass, groping, whilst the fingers in his hair grew more painful. The taste of blood filled his mouth even as he tried to break the kiss, stamping down on his foot, but to no avail — he couldn’t even call out.

“I like it when they struggle a little,” Liqiang sneered against his lips, and that was what tipped Sicheng over, finally. All he could think about was that feeling of hands running over his body, of a heavy weight pinning him down, of this, now, and his instinct kicked in, magic doing what it new best — to defend. That being said, it never knew when to stop and, fuelled by panic and fear, it wasn’t going to.

Shadows burst forth from his body with so much force that Liqiang quite literally went flying; he was ripped away within a second and hit the door with such force that it completely shattered the frame, meaning both man and door went flying into the hall. That was when the screams started.

Even as people came running, all Sicheng did was stand and watch, chest heaving and hair a mess, as Liqiang screamed and fought against intangible tendrils that cut into his skin time and time again until he bled out. No one could help him.

Finally, as the deafening shouts broke through his thoughts and he noticed all those staring on with horror, he looked up and met Kun’s eyes. There was no horror there, just an expression he couldn’t quite place.

They left, of course. He’d deal with the consequences of his actions later. They holed up in a small tavern in the next town over and Sicheng remained quiet the whole time, oblivious to the concerned looks being shared between his brothers interspersed with rage. It was Dejun who found him in the bathing room, scrubbing at his skin until it bled — who held him until he stopped. Kunhang helped him dress in clean clothes, ones that he’d gotten from the owner of the tavern that didn’t make his skin crawl.

“You did the right thing,” Yangyang insisted furiously from by his side once he sat on the bed, Kun fetching them some hot drinks from the kitchens downstairs. “I would’ve ripped him apart with my bare hands.”

“I don’t think you’re quite that strong yet, Yangyang,” he’d croaked out with a weak laugh. It was enough to make his younger brothers relax just a little, now that he’d spoken.

“We should’ve been with you,” Kunhang murmured as he settled on his other side, hands shifting like he wasn’t sure whether to reach out or not and after a few moments of watching Sicheng let out a soft exhale and reached out to cover it with his own. It was like a domino effect. Tentatively, as if they were nervous he’d fall apart, they all shifted closer until they were all cuddled together like when why were children, Sicheng the filling in whatever type of sandwich this was. It wasn’t . . . it didn’t make him feel sick,but it wasn’t comfortable, not like it used to be. Still, he endured it for them.

“I wouldn’t have wanted you there,” he admitted finally. “You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

That was how Kun found them when he returned. For a little while at least he could try to forget what’d happened, what he’d done, and instead focus on proving to his brothers that they didn’t need to worry about him as they all sipped on their drinks and Kun told them the stories they’d grown up on. Eventually, Sicheng drifted off, staring up at the ceiling with a tired sort of melancholy as his brothers slept around him.

—

It started like this: Sicheng was coming back from a small trip to one of their border towns when he heard whispers on the road. Two fishermen returning home after months at sea had been sitting at a table not too far from him, talking about the brutal slaughters which they’d come across on their way back at the port. No human casualties, but a whole stable. Ripped apart by what some claimed was an animal, but by what others claimed had to have been a man considering some of them had been strung up from the rafters in a macabre display. They’d talked about how people were saying that it was spreading, that there’d been more killings moving inland, and that the people were starting to talk about darker things, like magic, like . . .

As soon as he’d heard the word — _wangliang_ — he’d tried not to get his hopes up.

The last time he’d seen Yukhei had been when they were just children and he’d long since given up hope that he’d ever see him again. Hell, Sicheng had searched as far and wide as he could ever since he’d taken over Weishen and there’d never even been a hint that he was alive, let alone here. He’d spent nights sitting in the forest when he was younger and calling out for him with his magic once it’d taken on the same quality as that which fuelled his brother’s curse, but to no avail.

Sicheng put out his feelers once he got home and asked Zitao to get him more information. Part of him wanted to tell his brothers right away, but he wouldn’t get their hopes up, especially not considering the gravity of the stories he was hearing. If it was Yukhei, he was out of control and, based on the trajectory he’d gathered, heading straight here. He should’ve known that if he ever did return it’d be with a path of destruction left in his wake.

It didn’t quite make sense. Zitao’s reconnaissance raised more questions than it answered. If it was Yukhei, he’d gotten off a ship; a simple cargo ship that had made it to port in one piece, with no casualties, nothing suspicious other than the unsettling passenger they’d taken aboard who’d made all of them nervous. That wasn’t overly surprising — Sicheng had spent countless years researching all he could (which wasn’t much) about Yukhei’s curse, and he knew that a wangliang wasn’t a mindless creature. They were smart and cunning. Being aboard that ship for months, unable to act on any urges, was possible, and it explained why these killings were so brutal.

The description sounded like it could be Yukhei. All Sicheng had to go off was his memory of him as a boy, but it was promising. Tall. Strong. Light brown hair. Big eyes, big ears. It sounds about right. The thing was, though, that it sounded like there was someone on his tail, someone who was trying to clean up his messes. A foreigner with magic that was equally as foreign, yet one who spoke their language. Unluckily for him, foreigners had a tendency to stick out here.

“There’s a chance it isn’t him,” Sicheng warned when he finally broke the news, his brothers all standing before him with varying emotions showing on their faces. “But it might be, which is why I’m sending you all to track whoever it is down. If it is him, do whatever you can to bring him back here without getting yourselves hurt, and if it isn’t, kill them.” A wangliang that they had no hopes of controlling was a liability he couldn’t afford, especially one so bloodthirsty.

Sicheng knew deep down it had to be him, though. Wangliangs were incredibly rare even within Yukhei’s line, mature ones near nonexistent due to the nature of the curse.

“We won’t let you down,” Dejun promised, his eyes burning with hope and determination as he thumped his fist against his chest, the others mirroring him. They all shared similar expressions, save for Kun. Kun looked as pale as a ghost. Sicheng dismissed the others but held his older brother back, waiting until they were alone before walking forward to set a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“This is a good thing, Kun. I’m strong enough to help him control it. He’s come _home_ to us.” Kun’s expression was pained as he met his gaze, brows drawn together. His guilt was tangible.

“And I’m the one who sent him away, Sicheng. Don’t forget that, because I haven’t, and I can guarantee he hasn’t either.”

“If he truly is lost to it or he won’t listen to reason,” Sicheng spoke firmly, “then I’ll do what I have to to keep our family safe — just as you always did. If he can’t see that then he’s a fool.” Kun gave him a strained smile and nodded, squeezing his hand before pulling away and obviously trying to compose himself. These days his limp was barely noticeable most days.

“Pain doesn’t follow logic, Sicheng.” Kun cleared his throat, looking away. “As you said, we’ll take it as it comes. I’ll bring him home — we all will. No matter what it takes.”

 _No matter what it takes_.

Yukhei was what had set all of this in motion all those years ago and Sicheng couldn’t help but wonder if, if he came back to them, whether he’d ever truly realise the extent of how he’d changed their lives. All of them.

—

He’d known about one foreigner, not seven. Sicheng felt like one wandering around was frustrating in itself considering that he seemed to have rather capable magic, but it wasn’t just him who posed a threat, now. “Two faes,” Zitao explained from where he sat across from him at his desk. He’d only gotten back from his little reconnaissance about an hour ago. “And two demon-bloods. One of them is the man that landed not long after him and the others arrived today — the other one is much, much stronger.”

Sicheng had never considered that fae existed, at least not now. The stories, after all, spoke about beautiful, otherworldly creatures that were supposed to represent everything good, but the _really_ old texts held stories that would make anyone nervous. It’d always made him wonder why it was only demons that people feared.

Hell, as if it wasn’t bad enough, now he had to deal with more than just demons.

“What about the humans?” He asked, fingers tapping rather aggressively over the edge of the table. “You said there are _three_ humans. Tell me about them.” Over the past few years, he’d come to realise that, whilst Tao was good at finding information, too, that there was always information that should’ve been impossible for him to know. Sicheng didn’t care about where it came from anymore.

“One used to be a prominent thief. One is a knight.” SIcheng snorted under his breath. “And the other one is a king.”

As if them traipsing into his territory wasn’t enough — these weren’t just normal travellers. What in the world had Wong Yukhei gotten himself into to have a king willing to cross an ocean to hunt him down?

“I want them all here,” he said decisively, eyes burning with something hot and angry as he pushed himself up from his seat, dismissing his advisor and waiting until the door was closed to venture over to the window. A large number of juniors were training in the yards below, running through different tasks as some of the older citizens watched over them and gave them direction, and Sicheng let himself watch them for long, quiet minutes as he tried to make some semblance of all those thoughts swirling around in his mind.

Eventually one of his hands drifted up, rubbing over his shoulder firmly before his fingers danced up and around to the nape of his neck. They found the raised mark there with no effort; it was a habit when he was alone to trace the mark that bound them all, especially when he was feeling particularly lonely, or when his mind drifted back to his lost brother. Not that he was lost anymore, not really.

The pads of his fingers pressed firmly against the crimson ink and Sicheng exhaled slowly as his eyes fluttered closed. It felt like home if he had to explain it; small tendrils of his mind creeping forward and working his way down the bond they shared, searching for an opening before he slipped into the recesses of Dejun’s mind. He couldn’t read his thoughts or anything like that, but there was a distinct sort of content that filled him.

“Where are you?” Sicheng whispered, his heart slowing to a steady thud as though he was sleeping. It wasn’t words that he was granted with as a reply, but rather flashes of images, of thoughts directed his way, faces he didn’t know accompanied by familiar sights. His anger flared before he could help himself when he saw them all sitting around a table, laughing and eating together. He forced the intense wave of emotion down as soon as it rose and tried to pretend it hadn’t happened even though he _knew_ that Dejun would’ve felt it. “Bring them to me.”

Dejun’s reluctance was palpable, and it hurt perhaps more than knowing how they’d so easily accepted these people for the mere fact they were apparently important to Yukhei. Sicheng pulled himself free and the hand on his nape dropped down to join his other one which was curled tightly around the window frame, his knuckles strained white and lips pressed together firmly. Did Dejun truly think so little of him? That he’d kill them without reason? He knew that he’d had small lapses of control here and there, knew it better than anyone else, but he’d never killed simply for the sake of killing. He’d always had something driving him.

He had to protect his people, regardless of his own emotions. _Whatever it takes_.

A small chuff reached his ears as something large nudged against his side, a blunt pressure which had him glancing down to catch sight of the mismatched stripes of black and orange. The white dots the back of darker ears stared back at him and brought a softness to his eyes as he reached down to scratch behind them, earning another happy little noise. To think that, for years, the only people he could be himself around weren’t people at all, but rather a pair of tigers.

“What would I do without you, hmm?” Sicheng muttered under his breath as he slowly dropped down to his knees. His arms wrapped up around the tiger in front of him and he tucked his face into warm fur; Ping was patient with him, certainly far more than he needed to be. He truly would be lost without them. After a few minutes, he pulled back a little to ruffle the long, soft fur around his neck and shoulder, only for Dao to shuffle in and but his head against them until he too got Sicheng’s attention.

Sicheng gave them one last pat before pulling back reluctantly; he couldn’t hide with them in his room forever. “Come on, boys, we’ve got things to do. I need you both on your best behaviour.”

And so, it went a little something like this: two warlocks, two faes, and three humans were brought before him. It started like the beginning of a bad joke, except there was no punchline.

Tao had told him that one of the warlocks was considerably stronger, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the whiplash that hit as they all moved past his wards; he’d allowed them in, of course, otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to just walk in the front door, but for the first time Sicheng felt nervous. In terms of sheer magical ability, there was no one here that could compare — he was used to being confident in his abilities in that sense, even if he knew that he needed to be stronger.

The moment he felt the sheer force of their magic he knew that, if they were here to cause trouble, there would probably be little he could do to stop them the way he was now. Sicheng made deals with demons, but he’d never faced off against one and, truly, it felt like one had just walked into his home, and that wasn’t even taking into the count there were two fae — _fae_. Full-blooded creatures filled with magic so potent that it was the same as having an entourage of demons walking through his halls.

Sicheng couldn’t blame his brothers for not knowing the extent of the threat they were under, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t be pissed about the situation they were in.

The way their little warlock talked reminded him of Daiyu more than Sicheng was overly comfortable with, but he knew it was less about the fact that they were similar and more about the way they both had a way with words that was paramount. As much as he hated to admit it . . . well, Ten made plenty of good points, points that he couldn’t ignore. It was his job to do what was best for his people regardless of his own feelings. Turning them away risked their ire and he had no guarantee he could stop them from wreaking havoc. A tentative truce was . . . well, it was probably the best he could do, and he couldn’t deny that having such power on their side, even for a little while, would be beneficial — especially in the matter of Yukhei.

“You have a silver tongue, Ten.” It wasn’t quite a compliment, but it wasn’t completely an insult, either. Just an observation. Sicheng’s eyes drifted around the room, taking in all those tense shoulders and uncertain gazes, all that distrust and suspicion, and he couldn’t really blame them for feeling that way. After all, he—

One of them was staring at him. Not watching and waiting, like the others, but _staring_ , pointedly, with . . . the dumbest expression he’d ever seen. It was a wide smile, something that bunched up the dark-haired fae’s cheeks and creased the corners of his eyes even as the male seemed to try to fight it. His eyes were like dark pools that were focused right on his own, shining ever so slightly. He . . . he didn’t know what to call it. If it was anyone else, he’d almost say it looked like admiration to a degree, but the rest he was far too familiar with. Desire. Whether it was for his body or his power, it was all the same. Sicheng’s eyes hardened to ice and they snapped away quickly, focusing back on the man in front of him.

“But you’re correct. Kun already told me that you’re important to Yukhei,” Sicheng spoke evenly as he fiddled with one of the rings on his fingers, the movement far from nervous, “and you’re lucky that such words hold power here. Perhaps you’ll be able to tame him.”

He’d do anything for his brothers, whether it was in his power or not, and Yukhei was no exception to that, even after all these years. Sicheng didn’t know what these people truly were to Yukhei but anyone could see that they did truly care for him, and that was enough to make him a little more confident that this wouldn’t all go to absolute shit.

He watched as Ten dropped down and pressed his lips to the ring on his left hand, the one he’d pried from one of the matrons’ hands all those years ago; the blood had been nearly the same colour as the ruby embedded in it. “Very well, then.” Sicheng spared them all one last glance, pointedly ignoring that particular fae, and turned on his heel to settle back up into his chair, legs crossed and his chip propped lazily on the back of one wrist as he watched his brothers lead them out. _He_ was still staring up until the very last second when the doors clicked shut between them.

As if he didn’t have enough to deal with.

—

A lot had changed in seven years. Sicheng stared across the clearing, and the boy who’d haunted his dreams for year stared back at him, no longer a boy but a man. Yukhei was . . . it wasn’t a surprise that he’d shot up like a tree because he’d always been lanky, but it was still hard to reconcile the image of chubby-cheeked Yukhei with arms too long for his body with the man who stood opposite him. He was tall, broad, all of that baby fat seemingly have disappeared over time, replaced with defined cheekbones and incredibly handsome features, despite that macabre white of his eyes. He looked different, yes, but Sicheng could still see the boy he’d grown up with.

It made something heavy and dark settle in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t how Sicheng had wanted their reunion to go. There was no fondness in Yukhei’s voice as he spoke his name, the word a low rumble that rolled off his tongue with distaste. There were no smiles, no laughter, no hugs — just coldness, just rage, just resentment. He’d imagined that, should they ever be reunited, it’d be like a breath of fresh air: easy, effortless, warm.

_/Yukhei smiled at him, a wide, toothy grin that held a few gaps, and grabbed both of his hands within his own where they stood underneath their tree. It was just them, today because they’d been able to sneak away from their chores after some troubles in the house, but that was okay — Kun always said they were as thick as thieves, never apart from each other’s sides if they could help it._

_“When we grow up, you can just marry me, then!” A nine-year-old Yukhei declared, innocent and happy. Sicheng pulled a bit of a face, the sort that had his nose scrunching up and a small grimace crossing his lips like he’d just smelt something bad, and it made Yukhei laugh and push against him a little, knocking them both off balance until they could steady themselves. “That’s mean — I’m better than someone else, right?”_

_Yukhei_ was _better than someone else, like all the names the matrons had been spewing out over the past few months. Sicheng didn’t want to marry_ anyone _when he got older, certainly not any of the nasty, ugly boys they kept bringing up, especially not when some of them were the ones who called him names or made Yukhei’s life hell._

_“I guess you’re not so bad,” Sicheng relented, “but you’ll find someone else you want to marry.” It was Yukhei’s turn to make an exaggerated gagging noise that had them both dissolving into laughter./_

To think that they’d thought that, at this point in their life, they’d be _married_ of all things. It was hard to fathom. Maybe if things had been different, if Yukhei had stayed, that there would’ve been a chance for something, for things to blossom, but Sicheng doubted it — he never would’ve allowed Yukhei to endure what would’ve come if he’d been by his side. Besides, Yukhei had it all now, and Sicheng wasn’t surprised; who was easier to love than him? He had not one, but six, people hopelessly devoted to him.

And here Sicheng was, all alone, just as he’d always been. Just as he’d always expected himself to be.

 _Xuxi_. He’d been the one to give Yukhei that nickname, and this was the first time he’d heard it out of anyone’s mouth other than his brothers. Sicheng couldn’t help the way it made him bristle, something jealous writhing inside him. For years he’d felt like he was losing grip of his family and, even though he knew he’d probably lost the right to call Yukhei that a long time ago, it felt like that all over again.

 _His_ brother. _His_ best friend. They should’ve grown up _together_ , not thousands of miles apart.

Yukhei was completely lost to his curse at this point, but Sicheng, for once in his life, felt optimistic; years of pouring over old scripts into the early hours of the morning, years of training and building his power and bargaining for more, everything he’d sacrificed had lead to this, and finally, he knew how to help. He may have been lost to it now, but he wasn’t a lost cause.

Sicheng inhaled, let his magic surge up inside him, and then simply outstretched his arm, his palm raised and facing towards Yukhei. Just like that, his advanced stopped, that giant sword screeching to a holt in the dirt as a million different emotions flickered across Yukhei’s face, most of them pissed off. Lovely.

“Stop,” the taller male hisses out— no, _demanded_. Yukhei was in no place to make demands, though. His curse was born from demons, after all, and whilst his warlocks may have demon blood coursing through their veins, their magic was their own, and it was different — his was taken directly from the source. Slowly, black tendrils began veering his way, gravitating towards him like moths to a flame as they recognised his control; unable to resist his influence, Yukhei followed.

Somewhere along the way, he dropped his sword. A few feet out, he too dropped to the ground, chest heaving and strangled noises being pulled from him as his nails dug into the dirt below him as he fought what looked like convulsions. Sicheng knew it had to hurt, but it was for his own good. It was a rush, but not exactly the best kind — it wasn’t him absorbing power as his own, but rather forcing it out of Yukhei’s body and letting it try to drag him down, instead; it was all reliant on the fact that he was stronger than anything it could throw at him.

This curse had destroyed so many lives, and he wasn’t going to let Yukhei be another casualty.

Sicheng shuddered as the last few wisps crept under his skin, bile rising in the back of his throat until he forced it down and made his eyes focus on his brother, slouched on the ground and sobbing. This— this was familiar. Large puppy-dog eyes looked up, filled with tears, and even though he’d been putting on the strongest front he could in front of these people it made all of his resolve crumble. He didn’t know what Yukhei was saying to them, not really, but he understood one word, and that was enough to have him moving forward regardless. They could wait a few more minutes— he’d been waiting for years.

Sicheng dropped to his knees in the dirt without any care and shoved Yukhei’s shoulder, just enough to catch him off guard and make him focus, and then he melted. One hand reached up to settle on the back of the other’s neck, fingers resting in his hair, and he guided him forward. It was the first time in . . . well, he couldn’t remember how long, actually, that he’d willingly hugged someone like this and wanted to do it. He cradled Yukhei’s head against his chest and shoulder like when they were children and Yukhei would come crying, the other arm wrapped around him to steady him as he continued to cry, whole body shaking and trembling in his grip. Yukhei didn’t push him away — he pulled him closer, desperately clutching at his clothes like he was terrified that Sicheng would pull away.

“It’s okay, Xuxi,” he murmured, voice incredibly tender and gentle as his hand rubbed over his back. “It’s all going to be okay, I promise. I’m going to make it all okay, Yukhei. You’re safe here.”

It was harder than he would’ve liked to get Yukhei’s little harem to listen to him. Sicheng didn’t blame them for not trusting him, but it was frustrating nonetheless, because they were making things even harder. Eventually, though, thanks to Kun, they finally agreed to leave things to him for the rest of the night, something that was probably fuelled by the fact that, even barely keeping his eyes open, exhausted from the ordeal, Yukhei was still clinging to him like a child.

His brothers were fairly quiet as they took him downstairs, Sicheng still stroking his hair right up until the point that they reached the room he’d prepared just for this. The curse was still there, he’d just drained enough energy to let Yukhei get a good hold on it for now — he needed to be somewhere that could keep him contained if necessary, for the sake of others and himself.

“It’s late, isn’t it?” Sicheng muttered as they crossed the threshold, the invisible wall they’d seen from the outside now appearing as though it was a solid one behind them. The room was as warm as cosy as he could possibly make it without leaving too many things that Yukhei could damage or hurt himself with, the bed layered with soft rugs and pillows and the illusion of a window, too, that gave a view of the forest they’d grown up running through. Deep down he couldn’t deny that he wanted Yukhei to like it here, even if he knew that, no matter what, this was all temporary. Yukhei would leave him, soon, just as everyone else would eventually, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Let's get you to bed, hmm?” Yukhei just sniffled a little bit, finally loosening his grip as Kun stepped in the room too, looking incredibly nervous but also hopeful as he moved forward. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind that Kun was here, and there were no arguments or protests as he helped Sicheng get him into some clean clothes that weren’t covered in dirt and what looked suspiciously like dried blood. It was . . . it wasn’t overly pleasant, really, to see Yukhei so defeated, so _lifeless_ , moving around like some sort of doll as they directed him over to the bed and sat him down. His cheeks were red, as were his eyes and nose, but there was a distinct paleness to his skin, too, and the only thing that Sicheng could see in his expression was the pain.

“You’re going to be safe here, Xuxi,” he promised once again, a hand rubbing over his shoulder.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Yukhei croaked, looking up at him with wet eyes filled with absolute agony. “You should’ve killed me, you should’ve — I would’ve hurt you. I’ve already hurt so many people, Sicheng, I’m a mons—“

“Shh,” Sicheng cut him off, softening his gaze as much as he was physically capable of. “Don’t let me ever hear you say that again, you hear me? You’re far from it, Wong Yukhei.” He sighed, glancing at Kun who just shrugged a little, brows furrowed, before he patted Yukhei’s shoulder one last time and then pulled the chair over towards the bed and sat himself down in it.

“You should get some sleep,” Yukhei mumbled hoarsely.

“I plan to. You’re not going to hurt anyone here, I promise you that — but until you realise that I’ll stay, so you know that if you slip, I’ll be here to pull you back.” He could see that there was part of his brother that wanted to argue, but there seemed to be a larger part of him who didn’t want to be alone tonight, and that was the one that won as he offered a weak nod and slowly settled down into the furs beneath him.

“I missed you all so much,” he heard what had to be nearly an hour later, just before Yukhei’s breathing evened out. Sicheng opened his eyes and ignore the burn in them as he stared up at the ceiling; his legs were tucked up under him, head pillowed on a cushion he’d wedged behind his head and a rug draped around him.

“We missed you too, Yukhei.”

—

Sicheng liked to wander at night. It wasn’t exactly a secret by any means — he was a night owl, primarily because when he closed his eyes he was plagued by terrors, some fabricated and some real. Beyond that, though, he never felt like he deserved the rest. There was always more to do, more he could be doing, more he could be helping with — every second he spent sleeping felt like another drop of sand slipping through his fingers as the hourglass he was trapped in slowly diminished.

It was usually always the same, though. He had a routine that could only go one of a few set ways, because things around Weishen rarely changed, not necessarily in the physical sense, but just . . . it was how it was. He wandered the grounds, sometimes with the cats by his side, or he spent hours locked in the library, or he would sit in his garden and stare at his plants that had been slowly deteriorating ever since he planted them, always being replaced, always withering no matter how much he cared for them. Other times, he walked into _that_ room and locked the door. Those nights he rarely left before dawn.

But tonight was different, and Sicheng knew why the moment he stepped outside; he could practically feel it, like a trail of magical dust that led him right up to the rooftop that he’d only ever ventured onto a few times, and right to _him_. What a fool he was — he should’ve turned around right away and left, but something about the sight of the fae — Yuta — just sitting there made him so . . . so angry. He looked so carefree and at ease, like this place was his home, like he had any right to feel that way here.

“You have no idea how tempting it is to push you off,” Sicheng bit out. Truly, it did cross his mind. At least that’d be the end of this problem, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d killed someone for trying to get too close— no. That wasn’t fair. Yuta . . . he was probably harmless, like most of them. Still, he’d directly disobeyed the rules Sicheng had put in place, and it was only night two. Sicheng didn’t want to have to deal with this after last night and the mess that’d been today. He was _tired_ , so tired.

“You never stop talking, do you?” Sicheng muttered under his breath, staring at that stupid, smug grin as the other spoke works he didn’t understand. It might as well have been gibberish, but something about it was still infuriating. He couldn’t speak the language well, not in the slightest, but he’d heard Kun and Yangyang enough times that he knew a small handful of words. “Rules. You can’t be out here.”

Okay, this time he _knew_ that the other male could understand him, but all Yuta did was cock his head in a way that was probably supposed to be endearing and smiled even wider. Bastard. How _dare_ he invite him to sit down as though they were friends?

“ _Leave_.” Sicheng put as much venom as he possibly could into the single syllable, eyes furious, but nothing.

He should’ve walked away, but he didn’t, because he was a fool. What did Sicheng have better to do with his night, though? Absolutely nothing, and besides, he couldn’t just let a creature like this walk around his home unsupervised. He couldn’t be trusted. So, Sicheng sat down, keeping a good few feet of space between them and refusing to even so much as glance at Yuta as he stared out at the sky. He was usually so good at ignoring people, but something about this one . . . he just rubbed Sicheng the wrong way.

Yuta kept talking, kept looking at him, but Sicheng didn’t know what _any_ of it was supposed to mean. Why would a fae of all things stare at him like he was . . . like there was something there that was worth seeing? Why did he look at him with anything other than revolt and disdain? Why didn’t he treat him like the abomination he would probably seem like to anyone so inclined?

“You’re infuriating,” Sicheng breathed out with a hiss. “You look at me like— like somehow you see _something_. Like you’re expecting something. You make no sense. They said that you—“ he pressed his lips closed and exhaled through his nose, trying to collect himself before he ended up raising his voice or snapping altogether. “I’m used to tricksters. You’ll be no different than the rest.”

No one had ever proved him wrong, after all, and that wasn’t going to start now.

Sicheng sat there for hours as the other man spouted out nonsense, babbling away more than he’d thought anyone could possibly talk at such ridiculous hours of the night and morning, and when the edge of the horizon just barely started to lighten he finally pushed himself up, brushing the dirt from his legs. “If I catch you up here again, I’ll break your legs.”

Yuta just smiled that stupid, _stupid_ smile that was so ridiculously fond and _soft_ and waved goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta, so apologies for any mistakes! feel free to follow me on twitter @peachxi1


	5. chapter five | yuta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love is a strange dark magic, where death may only make it stronger the softest kiss in the wrong direction can steal it away forever" - ATTICUS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for being patient with me! I hope this 16k chapter is worth the small delay! I feel like every chapter I apologise for how, uh, painful this story is, but really, did you expect anything less? After the next chapter, things will be considerably less terrible, and it'll delving into new content rather than these chapter which have been providing insight into the events of bloodlines.
> 
> some time in the future, between projects, I'm going to publish an alternate version of this fic that fills in the gaps I've left to avoid repetition, so that it can be read as a stand-alone for anyone who wants to read.
> 
> hope you're all doing well and staying safe♡

Ideally, the charms were supposed to be worn to be effective, but Yuta had no idea how he was supposed to convince Sicheng to accept anything from him just yet, so he had to improvise.

The next night he settled into a spot that was on the opposite side of the roof but still overlooking the garden below. He should’ve kept searching last night before scaling his way up because back by one of the storage sheds adjoining the manor there was a much easier route to the top. Yuta wondered if maybe that was how Sicheng got up, too. Sicheng took longer tonight — probably having realised there was no use trying to get him to go back to his room without physically intervening — but when the moon was nearly vertically above him in the sky he heard telltale footsteps moving over the roof tiles.

Again, enchantments had never been his forte, so making the charms alone was a considerable achievement for Yuta. This? Much harder, and much more taxing, specifically because of the fact he had to keep his magic hovering at a very specific point that wasn’t enough to tip Sicheng off to something, but also not too low that it’d be ineffective. Projecting enchantments wasn’t easy for anyone, but it was even harder for him.

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” Yuta split into a wide grin and tipped his head back so that he could look up at Sicheng who was standing behind him, still a few feet away. He probably looked like quite the fool in the moment — not that he minded. “What do I have to give you to leave?” Sicheng wasn’t expecting an answer but Yuta still gave him one.

 _A kiss_ , he wanted to say, but instead what came out was a pleasant: “an hour or so of your company. Doesn’t that sound like a fair deal?” The way that Sicheng startled at his words like a spooked horse made him feel a little bit guilty, but it was worth it for the simple fact that for the first time he’d truly managed to get a reaction from the sorcerer.

“ _How?_ ” The other demanded, suspicious, and Yuta swivelled around on his butt so that he could actually face him.

“What can I say? I really wanted to talk to you. I’m a quick learner when I need to be. So, what do you say?”

Sicheng stared at him longer than was really comfortable like he was searching for any sign that Yuta was trying to deceive him, and all the while Yuta just sat there, elbows rested on his knees. “And then you’ll go back to your room?”

“Yes—“

“And _stay there_ ,” Sicheng added, sharper, making Yuta rub at the back of his neck before he gave a small nod. He certainly wasn’t going to push his luck. The taller male narrowed his eyes for a brief moment before giving a quiet huff of affirmation and crossing the last few feet to take a seat on the rooftop with him — only a little bit away from him, compared to last night. Close enough that, if Yuta reached out, he’d be able to touch him— not that he _would_.

“So, how was your day?” No response. Yuta’s brows furrowed minutely as his brain turned over before he let out a soft, warm chuckle, and shook his head. “ _Smart_. Not many people can say they’ve outsmarted a fae when making bargains — I only said you had to keep me company, not that you had to answer me.” It was a rookie mistake, really. It only served to prove just how much of an effect Sicheng had on him. “That’s okay,” he relinquished, “I can speak enough for the both of us.” The snort he received from the other was enough to suggest that Sicheng at least found _that_ humorous.

“What to talk about, right? There’s a lot I want to ask you but I’ll wait till you’re ready to talk to me, otherwise there’s no real point. My day wasn’t very eventful, either, but I talked with Yangyang over lunch — funny kid. A baby, really. All of you humans are so _young_. It makes me feel like I’m stuck on babysitting duty again, they remind me of . . .” Yuta trailed off, his smile shifting into something more bittersweet as he leant back on his hands and turned his gaze skywards. Even the sky reminded him of home. Regardless of the bad memories and resentment, it was still where he’d spent all of his life, and the stars held memories, _good ones_ , that he never wanted to forget. To think he’d been whining about having to take on apprentices all those years ago, only to miss them like crazy, now. He hadn’t even gotten to see them before he’d departed.

“Ah, look at me getting all sentimental. Who would've thought? They remind me of my little brothers. Not blood brothers, but . . . sort of how you are with your brothers — blood isn’t the be-all and end-all. We made our own families, in the guard. I used to take them out on training exercises or let them come along if I had jobs to do, and we used to camp out under the stars a lot. They were always asking me to tell them stories.” Yuta fell silent for, perhaps, a minute or two, and then he glanced back to Sicheng out of the corner of his eye and hummed.

“For all we acknowledged the gods back home, I don’t know if I ever got proof that they were real, but we all grew up on the stories — legends, really, about the beings who came before us. My favourite was always the story of the sun and moon. They were the first, after all, the beings that came into existence before the world was even ready, and their love was also the first. The longest-lasting love, when you think about it. They’re caught in a constant game of cat and mouse, each of them bound to rise when the other falls, never able to share the sky together or feel the comfort of each other’s embrace. They wait so long, longing for each other with every day that passes, biding their time until the next eclipse. No one knows why, really; depending on who you’ll ask the answer is different, so there’s no one definitive explanation, but . . . I think my favourite is that they have to stay apart because, together, their love would be too much for the world to bear.

People say that’s why eclipses are dangerous and why our magic is so heavily affected by them, because their love is so strong that it starts throwing the world off-balance for the few minutes that they’re reunited. Maybe it is, but I don’t understand why that’s such a problem. A love like that, the sort that can alter space and time, that can survive centuries upon centuries and still stay so strong . . . who are we to stop that? If I had a love like that I’d never let it go, the world be damned — it could burn for all I care.” The world seemed to fall quiet following the end of his musings and Yuta busied himself with mapping out constellations in the sky above them. “There I go again, right? Running my mouth. Sorry—“

“It’s a beautiful story.” Those words were softer than anything he’d heard from Sicheng’s mouth so far, perhaps even softer than the gentle musings offered to his brothers. Yuta’s eyes widened ever so slightly and his lips parted, letting out a soft breath as he looked at the sorcerer. For the first time, Sicheng’s eyes weren’t cold and empty as they stared at him, nor filled with rage and frustration. He looked . . . considerate, like there was much on his mind, but still incredibly _warm_. “Thank you for sharing it with me.” The slight twitch of Sicheng’s mouth was nowhere near enough to be considered even the beginnings of a smile, but Yuta smiled back regardless; a soft, fond smile that had his eyes twinkling like the stars above them.

—

Yuta wasn’t sure why it felt like such a big deal to share his little inventions. Well, scratch that, _he did_ , but he didn’t want to admit it, even to himself. Sharing it meant letting out his little secret. Sharing it meant giving up the slight advantage he’d gained over the past few days. No matter how lovely the people here were he couldn’t just let his guard down like that and people tended to be much more open when they didn’t know he could understand them.

He hadn’t lied to Sicheng — he’d told him that he was a quick learner when it mattered and that’d been true because he’d had to figure out how the fuck to put this special enchantment together. Still, he knew that Sicheng might see it as a lie. Yuta couldn’t really help it, okay? It was a habit from living amongst his own kind his whole life. They were a devious, mischievous lot. Growing up they’d revelled in tricking each other. They’d been praised for it. The sneakier the better.

“You know,” Taeyong’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “I know you’ve been sneaking out at night since we got here.” Well, shit. It wasn’t like he’d been hiding it, but he hadn’t exactly been trying to broadcast it either, mostly because he knew that there wasn’t anyone who’d approve of it. Sicheng’s men were fiercely protective of him and they’d already made it abundantly clear that, even though some of them had tentatively begun to get along with him, his advances and interest weren’t welcome in the slightest.

“Well,” he drawled, “I wasn’t really trying to hide it.” Good, play it off casually. He knew Taeyong was good at reading him, though. “I’ve been . . . busy.”

“Busy?”

“Mhmm.” It was easy to distract Taeyong with his neat little charms, at least for a little while. He’d already made a few so far and knew he had many, many more to make so that everyone was kept in the loop, but the one he’d given Taeyong was a simple bracelet, something that could be hidden if necessary and wouldn’t get in the way while he worked. All the effort was worth it just for last night and that glance he’d gotten from Sicheng, as was the exhaustion that’d followed from him trying to project the enchantment, but seeing Taeyong’s reaction definitely added to the satisfaction.

“How long have you been wearing one?”

Yuta grinned, all mischief, as he showed off the cord around his neck. “Two days. Just enough to make sure it works well. Long enough to pick up on _lots_ of juicy gossip; you’d be surprised what people are willing to talk about when they think you can’t understand them.”

“You’re terrible,” Taeyong chided despite his smile.

“Hey! You should be praising me, I did this for you.” The other snorted at that and rolled his eyes.

“No you didn’t. You did it so you could talk to Sicheng, didn’t you?”

Yuta offered an unapologetic grin and winked, even as his heart ached a little. He had. No matter how much he lied or tried to pretend otherwise, it would’ve taken him weeks to do this if he hadn’t had such motivations in the first place.

“Yuta, I just . . . what do you see in him?” Ah, and wasn’t that the golden question? It was one that made Yuta pause and think, trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to put this into words, and even more so how much he was willing to disclose to Taeyong. He didn’t want to sound crazy. He also didn’t want to sound obsessive, because he knew there was a fine line between it and adoration, but he was already well aware that he was straddling that line. Yuta sighed, wet his lips with his tongue, and then parted them to speak.

“Have you ever looked at someone,” he spoke slowly, “and just . . . _known_ that they’re supposed to be in your life? At first I just couldn’t believe how gorgeous he was, it was like I couldn’t even breathe — it was like he was the sun, you know? It hurt to look at him but I just couldn’t stop. I still can’t. Can’t you see it? How . . . how _strong_ his soul is? I’ve never felt anything like it.” It’d nearly brought him to his knees the first time he’d laid eyes on Sicheng, and not just because he’d wanted to ravage him until he screamed.

“We don’t know him. Lucas talks about him fondly but I don’t like the way he looks at you, Yuta. Like you’re not worth his time.” It— shit, he knew it was valid concerns, and he knew that Taeyong only wanted the best for him, but it wasn’t _like_ that. He just didn’t know how to make him see. He quickly shook his head and reached out, unfurling one arm and covering the back of one of Taeyong’s palms with his own to squeeze gently.

"You don’t need to worry about me, Yong, I’m a big boy. I don’t know how to explain it, but we can trust him. He’s good. Besides,” he added a little more lightheartedly, “he’s not so bad when it’s just us.”

“What—“

“What do you think I’ve been doing the last two nights?” Okay, the scolding was worth it to see the near scandalised look on Taeyong’s face when he put two and two together, finally. Yuta couldn’t help but throw his head back, laughter spilling from his throat that was a little too loud. “Sitting on my ass? Had to put it to use.”

“But he—“

“Relax. Breathe. All we did was talk a little, and by a little I mean it was mostly me; he threatened to kick my ass for breaking the rules but he hasn’t yet.”

“Mark your words, Yuta.”

Later, after Taeyong had abandoned him for Lucas and Ten, Yuta had stayed in his spot on the stairs and focused on fixing up some of Lucky’s feathers now that she’d come back to him. She’d always favoured Taeyong, though he didn’t blame her. At one point he could practically _feel_ the eyes on him and, when he glanced up from where his head was bowed down, sure enough, Sicheng was staring at him. Yuta couldn’t place the look in his eyes, but it didn’t look too bad. He made sure to smile and wave, earning a small caw from Lucky and a flap of her wings as she demanded his attention once more.

—

It wasn’t easy to gain the trust of Sicheng’s brothers, but Yuta was nothing if not persistent. Yangyang was the first to decide he was worth keeping around, though he felt like he was probably the easiest, too. Then came Kunhang after they spent a whole afternoon sparring together until they were sweaty and bruised, though he’d definitely been a lot more tentative about shaking his hand than Yangyang was about throwing arms around their shoulders with a smile. Dejun was . . . well, Dejun _looked_ like he was incredibly intimidating, and his quiet demeanour definitely added to that impression, but the more time that he spent around the younger male the more he realised that it was all a bit of an understanding. He was reserved, yes, a little shy, and he was definitely lethal with a blade and his hands, but Dejun was surprisingly easy to get along with once they cleared the air.

Read: once Dejun realised that Yuta wasn’t trying to be an asshole and wasn’t going to try and seduce his brother only to run off into the night like some evil fiend.

Kun . . . he was still a work in progress, but he didn’t seem to _hate_ him anymore.

They’d been rather impressed by his skills once he’d had a chance to show off. Yuta hadn’t gone into detail about all of his backgrounds but he had told them the basics, like how he’d been a member of the royal guard longer than any of them had been alive and how he’d been a part of their highest order. Even without using his magic he could certainly hold his own amongst all of them which was why he’d been tentatively allowed on patrols with them, something which had slowly evolved into him enthusiastically being invited along.

It felt good, to be a part of something familiar, even if he wasn’t really one of them. They treated him like he was, though, and that was something that he couldn’t begin to express how thankful he was for it. It’d been so long since he’d had this. Friends. A sense of belonging.

So, during the day he harassed Taeyong and his harem or helped the Lieshou with their patrols and small missions, something which he still didn’t really know how Sicheng felt about, and during the night he’d end up on the roof or on a balcony or, most recently, perched on a bench down in the garden as Sicheng tended to his plants. He still hadn’t told the sorcerer that the reason they’d been picking up lately was because of him and it was going to stay that way for the foreseeable future because there was no way he was going to burst Sicheng’s bubble.

Today was like any other day until it wasn’t. They’d been laughing as they traipsed along the border, Yangyang and Kunhang shoving each other whilst he and Dejun hung back a little, idly discussing one of the latest projects back at the manor, when Yuta paused mid-step. If he were an animal, his ears would’ve been standing up high, twitching as he picked up faint rustling in the forest, just out of sight. Even here the forest responded to him, and here, unlike the wildlands, it was more than happy to serve him. His lips drew into a thin line as his magic crept over the forest floor like an invisible fog, seeking out the intruders and whispering to the trees and plants that surrounded them.

“Yuta? Is something—“

Before Kunhang could even finish his sentence there was loud rustling and frantic shouts that interrupted him; only a few seconds later vines shot forth from the surrounding shrubbery, dragging bodies amongst the ground that were kicking and fighting and cursing up a storm. They arched into the air like snakes and dangled their prisoners in a way that left them totally helpless.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Dejun snorted quietly before drawing his sword and stepping forward, mirroring his brothers who’d also reached for their weapons. Yuta typically didn’t carry much compared to his companions. In fact, other than the two little daggers attached to his waist and the one on his calf, he had nothing — he didn’t _need_ anything else, not when he was pitted against those who were so painfully human. Even without his magic, there was no fighting the natural strength of his body, nor the sharp, unparalleled reflexes. Being here had made him understand exactly why their kind wasn’t really allowed to interact with mortals anymore. He felt like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, even _with_ good intentions.

“ _Weishen dogs!”_ One of the trio spat, voice dripping with venom. Yuta just bared his teeth in what could only _just_ be considered a smile and let the vines knock his head on the ground in retribution.

Of course, Yuta had been almost excited to drag the spies back to Sicheng, if just because he’d probably be extremely pleased that they’d been caught. If he was lucky, he’d get a backhanded compliment about doing good — if he was unlucky he’d be ignored, though Yuta knew that’d change once they were alone. He wouldn’t go as far as to say that Sicheng necessary liked him a lot, but he felt like . . . he felt like they got along, at least, and that Sicheng enjoyed their nightly talks. The stories probably helped.

So yes, _excited_ , because he couldn’t have imagined how it would actually go. Lady Liu’s spies had said things that’d made his blood boil and he’d been helpless to do anything but stand there and listen. They’d had no respect, no honour. The worst part, though, had been the way that Sicheng had been so completely indifferent to it all as though he’d heard it a million times already. That was what had really made his rage spill over, and that was why he’d relished in the way the offending man dropped as Sicheng’s magic took over from his own and ended his miserable life.

Sicheng was facing away from him tonight as he stepped into the courtyard, busying himself with one of the plants which had been looking rather pathetic as of late. Yuta would fix that — later, though. Silence stretched between them and Sicheng didn’t turn around, not at first, even as Yuta slowly approached until he came to a stop only a few feet behind him. Only then did he acknowledge him. “Dejun told me that you’re the one who caught them,” he murmured, turning just enough to glance at him from the corner of his eyes. “It’s good that you did. Who knows what they would’ve done if they’d come across anyone else.”

“We should’ve just taken them back to the border and scared them off,” Yuta found himself saying as his jaw ticked. “I was the one who suggested we bring them back to question — I didn’t know.” Guilt had been eating away at his heart all afternoon. “I’m sorry, Sicheng.”

“What in the world are you apologising for?” The dark-haired human snorted in disbelief. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I wanted to rip his tongue out when he spoke to you like that.” Yuta wanted to make it a joke, but he couldn’t; his voice was deadly serious and a little breathless, tinged with something dark. “I didn’t care that he hadn’t hurt anyone yet or whether he could be useful, I just wanted to— how _dare_ he—“

“Yuta.” Sicheng’s tone was sharp as he interrupted him with an even expression. “ _That was nothing_ — it’s nothing I haven’t heard before, and trust me when I say I’ve heard much worse. Besides, it wasn’t exactly untrue.”

Yuta didn’t know the whole story and he probably never would, but he’d heard enough from the Lieshou so far to have an idea of what that man had been referring to, and what Sicheng was mentioning, too. The more thought of it made him sick — not out of disgust, but rage. 

“They think they see you, but they don’t,” he managed through gritted teeth. “People are cruel and petty and they’re scared of things they don’t understand — not just humans, but fae, too. They’re _terrified_ of what they can’t control. You are . . . gods, you don’t see yourself the way I— _we_ see you.” Yuta knew that he was pushing his luck but he still moved forward a single step, meeting the other’s gaze as he covered one of the taller male’s hands with his own, overlapping it on that rusted watering can.

Sicheng sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t shove him away, he just stared at him with a confused, troubled expression framed by dark brows. “You talk about yourself like you’re some sort of monster, Sicheng, and you’re _not_. You think you’re a monster? I’ve seen monsters, okay — _real_ monsters, hideous beasts with no soul or conscience who feed on death and destruction. People who have done things you could never dream of. You want to know what I see when I look at you, Sicheng?”

Yuta didn’t give him a chance to answer. “I see one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met in my life. You don’t just put your people above yourself, you raise them higher no matter the cost, even if it means pushing yourself down. You’re incredibly brave. You take everything they throw at you and just keep burning brighter and brighter. You’re kind and compassionate and extremely patient when it comes to—“

“ _Stop._ ” Sicheng’s voice wasn’t very loud, nor was it sharp, but there was something so agonised there that it caught Yuta off guard. “Stop,” he repeated, ripping himself away and turning his face to the side, almost like he was trying to hide from Yuta’s gaze. “ _You don’t know me_. Whatever person you think you know, whatever you think you’ve somehow learnt while you’ve been here, it’s not me. It's not real. I’m not who you think I am, Yuta, I’m . . . I wasn’t— the things they say, they’re true, I’m not _right_ and you don’t understand.”

The shadows around them seemed to darken a little and the air dropped a few degrees, a faint, haunting breeze creeping over their skin. Somewhere in the expanse of the night, a crow called out loudly. “Is that what this is about?” Yuta’s voice was calm, even, but the underlying fury in his tone was paramount. “I know, Sicheng. Do you really think that I care?” Sicheng was the most gorgeous, breathtaking creature he’d ever laid eyes on, and Yuta didn’t care what he looked like underneath his clothes. Sicheng was Sicheng, and Yuta adored him regardless. He wanted him regardless. Man, woman, nothing, anything — no matter what he was, Yuta was his.

“Do you think it makes any sort of difference, that I see you differently? Do you really _think_ that it gives them the right to treat you like they do? They would find any reason they possibly could to try and bring you down because they’re terrified of you and what you stand for; they don’t want change, and they don’t want to be held accountable for their actions. They want to control you and they can’t, so they make you think that you’re the problem, but you aren’t. I know you won’t believe me. You have no reason to. But I’ll tell you as many times as it takes, Sicheng. One day, I’ll make you believe it.”

A thick, tense silence fell into the air between them. The most prominent noise in the courtyard was the sound of their breathing, with Yuta’s slow but loud like he was agitated, and Sicheng’s a little faster, lighter. Yuta could hear the way his pulse was hammering, though he wasn’t sure what emotion was the catalyst.

“You should leave,” Sicheng finally answered in a voice that was void of anything.

“Have a good night,” was all Yuta murmured before he turned on his heel and headed back to his room for the night.

—

The next night, they didn’t talk about what'd occured. Sicheng sat quietly on the small bench in his courtyard and watched where Yuta was sitting on the ground, legs folded and his arms wrapped around a large tiger, his fingers ruffling its fur as he blew a kiss against its fluffy shoulder. The tigers didn’t like a lot of people other than Sicheng. They tolerated his brothers, but they didn’t allow them this sort of contact; it made Yuta feel infinitely special.

“What a big boy,” he cooed as Dao threw his head back and chuffed, absolutely melting when Yuta’s fingers found a spot under his ear that seemed to feel good. His tail thumped enthusiastically against the ground. “Yes you are, aren’t you?” A loud noise rumbled by his ear, dissatisfied, and he laughed and let himself fall back against the tiger that’d settled behind him; Yuta’s laughter only grew when a large, rough tongue covered his cheek with saliva as his head settled against Ping’s side. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you,” Yuta hummed as he wiped his cheek clean, only for him to start on his _hair_ like he was grooming a cub.

The fact he had to shower for nearly half an hour in the early hours of the morning was totally worth it to have seen that faint fond look in Sicheng’s eyes as he’d watched them.

—

Yuta inhaled, held his breath for a few moments, and when he exhaled the trees around him seemed to shiver from their leaves down to their roots. His magic was so heavily ingrained in life despite its penchant for death that being out here, surrounded by nothing but nature, was something he could never truly put into words. It was like it all became an extension of himself. He could feel every tree, every shrub, every little weed that fought desperately to break through the forest floor; he could feel bone crunching beneath his teeth and taste the warm meat of a rabbit as a fox feasted somewhere nearby, could feel the air beneath his wings as a sparrow dipped and weaved through a large oak, could feel . . .

The fae hissed and his magic flared so quickly through the surrounding area that it was like whiplash. The black cat which had been crouching not too far away and watching him through a thicket tumbled forth and Lucky swooped into the clearing with a loud caw, landing on his shoulder as he stood and trend. “I have eyes everywhere, Zitao — you’d do well to remember that,” he spoke coldly. The cat meowed, backing up and playing dumb. He didn’t have time for that. Green wisps of magic shot forth from where he stood and his the cat before it could even move another step; within a few seconds, Zitao was stumbling on his feet and coughing, wheezing really, eyeing him warily. “Don’t act surprised. I'd know your stench anywhere.”

“Lovely to see you too,” the human muttered as his eyes darted around a little. Obviously, he hadn’t been expecting to be caught so easily, though Yuta felt like he wouldn’t have even risked it if he didn’t have a reason for being here. “How did you even know how to do that?” Change him back forcefully, he was obviously referring to.

Yuta snorted loudly, making Lucky startle ever so slightly. “I’ve seen magic like it before. It’s dark, nasty shit. Unluckily for you, I also know what it does to the people wielding it.” His lips curled into an absolutely nasty little sneer. “Have you started bringing up blood yet? Insomnia? Delusions?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zitao snapped with such a surety that it made him want to sigh. “My body is merely a vessel for the will of the gods — it's strong enough to maintain itself.” Yuta could tell just from his defensiveness that he’d hit the mark there somewhere. The last person like this he’d come across hadn’t ben spouting crazy things about gods and such, but he figured that was probably unique to Zitao’s hallucinations. Yuta didn’t quite believe that the gods they worshipped did exist now, or that they ever had, even if he loved the stories; that being said, even if they did, they wouldn’t meddle in petty human affairs. Not like this.

“Keep telling yourself that, kid. Sicheng may not see you for what you are yet, but I do.”

“I’m trying to help him.”

“No, you’re not, not really. I think you tell yourself that to try and make yourself feel better. I think that you wish you were, because deep down I think you do care about him and believe in his cause, but we both know that everything you do is for yourself, or for your . . . _gods_ , as you say. You’ll do anything to fulfil your ideas of what needs to happen, no matter who gets caught up as collateral. _That’s_ why I don’t trust you, Zitao, not because of whatever the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into.”

ZItao stared at him with wide eyes, and for the first time, Yuta noticed just how young he looked. How tired. He was older than Yuta’s other little humans but he was still considered so young for a fae and without that bravado and element of mystery he used to intrigue others he looked every bit the part of a scared child who had no way out. It _almost_ made him feel guilty, but then he thought of Sicheng, who was falling further and further down the rabbit hole, and he didn’t feel so bad anymore. If Zitao didn’t change his ways, Yuta would make sure he didn’t have a chance to hurt Sicheng, even if he was doing so by causing Sicheng to hurt himself.

After a few long moments, the human’s eyes grew a little colder and closed off to him completely. His posture straightened and he looked away, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. “Dejun is hurt and they’re not sure if he’ll make it. Sicheng held a knife to Taeyong’s throat until Taemin intervened, and _no_ , I didn’t have anything to do with it. Lady Liu dumped him back in Weishen territory.”

Yuta paled, and in that moment the last thing he cared about was Zitao and his scheming.

People were smart to duck out of his way as he stormed through the halls of Weishen with a dark, troubled expression in his eyes and a tense set to his shoulders. Yuta couldn’t call it a single-minded focus (not when he had so much on his mind) but he was definitely a man on a mission. Thankfully, he knew for sure that everyone he needed to see would be in one place, and so he headed straight to the infirmary with white knuckles and his teeth aching from where he was grinding them together.

When he turned the corner into the hall he was searching for, he noticed Sicheng only a few meters away, his eyes empty and hollow as he walked towards him. No, not towards him, he was going to walk _past_ him, Yuta realised, when he opened his mouth to speak. Any other day he’d give him his space, but not today. Yuta’s hand circled firmly around his wrist and stopped him, yanking him back to face him with a torn expression.

“Why?” He demanded, but Sicheng wouldn’t even meet his gaze. “ _Why_ , Sicheng? He— he’s on your side, for gods sake, he was trying to _help_. Why would you do it?” Again, there was no answer. Yuta swallowed thickly and loosened his grip just a little.

“Tell me this, then: when you held that knife to his throat, would you have followed through?” There was nothing for a few tense moments, and then Sicheng finally looked at him, his expression . . . all Yuta could describe it as was broken, despite how guarded it was. Perhaps even more so than when they’d first met.

“I’ll do anything to keep my brothers safe.” Yuta’s heart ached in his chest — searing, agonising pain.

“You say that,” he rasped, “but I know you better than you’ll admit. Taeyong’s your friend. You wouldn’t have, not when he was trying to help. Why won’t you just let us help?”

“We don’t need outsiders interfering. All you’ve done is brought us more trouble.” No. _No._ Yuta wasn’t just going to sit by and let Sicheng push him — push _them_ — away so that he could shoulder all of this burden by himself.

“Sicheng, I’m _begging you,_ just . . . don’t shut us out.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I told you about the oath I swore; you _know_ that if you ever tried to hurt him that I’d have to step in. Please, _please_ , don’t make me hurt you. Don’t try and make me your enemy.”

He almost caught a glimpse of something at that, but it was gone as quickly as he thought about it. Sicheng tugged his hand back harshly and looked away. “It is what it is. I’ll do anything to make them pay for what they’ve done, and anyone who tries to stand in my way will go down with them. Don’t think you’re anything special.”

And then Sicheng walked away from him, just like that. Yuta felt like he took a part of his heart with him.

That harrowing pain in his chest followed him down the hall and when he caught sight of Taeyong, sitting by Dejun’s bedside, it only grew deeper, the roots creeping down through his body. Yuta’s eyes only settled on Taeyong for a moment, and then his focus was Dejun. He’d been cleaned up, presumably, because there wasn’t blood caked over his skin as he’d expected. His eyes were closed, but it didn’t look peaceful; there was heavy, near-black bruising around them, the blood vessels around the edges burst under his skin. Even after all the work that Taeyong had no doubt done so far he was still covered in injuries, from cuts to bruises, to . . . his hands. _Gods_ , his hands. They were broken, and bruised and bloody even now, the fingernails missing and deep wounds in the centre which made him realise that Dejun had been pinned to something by them, through them, or suspended that way.

Yuta was no stranger to horror. He’d seen those he cared about hurt before. Even so, this was _Dejun_ , and he wasn’t fae — just human. To think that he was still alive after all he’d undoubtedly endured . . . it made him realise just how strong humans could be despite their fragility.

Taeyong gave him a tired smile as he sat down beside him but didn’t open his mouth, instead turning his focus back to the prone figure on the bed as his magic flowed through his body. His magic was so young, yet he was already capable of so much. Yuta had no doubt that Dejun would’ve died already without his intervention.

“Will he survive?” Yuta finally dared to break the silence and Taeyong was quick to nod and reassure him.

“He will. Dejun’s strong. I can only do so much with my magic, like keep his heart beating, but his body needs to be able to process the trauma on its own.” Even if Taeyong could just heal it all with a magic touch, it wouldn’t be a good idea; when it came to intense, traumatic injuries like this, it was better to take it slow, to give the person’s body breaks every now and then, because healing so much at once would be just as traumatic as the original injury.

Yuta swallowed thickly, keeping his eyes on the bed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Yong.” The last time that Taeyong had had a knife to his throat had been the worst day of his life to date, and it was something he knew the younger still had the occasional nightmare over. It was something he’d likely never forget. Yuta was supposed to _protect_ him. If it hadn’t been Sicheng, if it’d been someone else— he didn’t even want to think about it.

“Yuta,” the other breathed, brows drawn together but his expression soft, “you have nothing to apologise for, certainly not to me. I’m _glad_ you weren’t there.”

“Why?”

“Because if you were, what would you have done, Yuta? If Sicheng was standing there with a knife to my throat and Taemin hadn’t stopped him, what would you have really done?”

Yuta didn’t have an instant answer for him, even though he knew it should’ve flowed off his tongue with ease. If he’d been standing there when it happened, he should’ve instantly jumped into action and defended his prince — because even if Taeyong had conceded his claim to the throne he would always be his prince, always Kangdae’s baby brother, someone he needed to protect. If it were anyone else holding the blade he would’ve killed them without hesitation. But it wasn’t anyone else, it was Sicheng.

“I would’ve done whatever I needed to do to keep you safe.”

Taeyong reached out to cover his hand with a gentle squeeze. “You say that, but we both know that you could never bring yourself to hurt him, even for me, and I would never ask you to.” Yuta hung his head down low and looked away, unable to look into Taeyong’s eyes and see all that understanding and acceptance. He wished he’d yell. Scream. Punish him. His throat was tight and his head felt light and floaty in the worst possible way, hand trembling under Taeyong’s.

This was why guards were discouraged from romantic relationships. The way they saw it, fuck whoever you want, but try not to think about love until you’ve already served your people. For the Hunt, it was forbidden. The vow you made wasn’t something to be broken. Your only love was your king or queen and your people. Yuta had been excommunicated, yes, but now . . . now he understood why it was a requirement. Love made you blind. It caused problems. It made you an ineffective soldier.

He’d let his emotions cloud his judgement back then when he’d put Kangdae’s happiness above his welfare, and it’d resulted in his death. Yuta had sworn he’d do things differently this time around yet once again his heart was taking precedence over his mind.

“I swore to you that I’d die before I let any harm come to you.” Yuta’s eyes were dark and agonised as he looked up, yet filled with resolve. “I meant it.”

—

Last night, Sicheng never showed up. Nor did he the night before, after their . . . Yuta can’t really call it an argument, not when Sicheng had never cared enough about his opinion to argue with him in the first place, but it feels like it. He knew he was being ignored — he wasn’t blind. Even during the days Sicheng wouldn’t so much as look at him and he was always disappearing before Yuta could manage to try and catch his attention.

He knew that tonight was going to be rough on all of them and Yuta was already having conflicting feelings about it. On one hand, these were the people who had made Sicheng’s life a living hell. Half of him recoiled at the idea of having to meet them. The other half wanted nothing more than to put the fear of the gods into them, whether they were real or not.

Either way, all he could think about was Sicheng, even as he debated over what the hell he was going to wear tonight. He’d been offered a few selections earlier in the day and some of those pieces were laid out on his bed, a tight pair of leather pants already pulled onto his bottom half, but he couldn’t decide what to wear above. It felt a little too gaudy to go shirtless, not that Yuta had ever cared about nudity. Growing up in shared wards and gotten rid of that modesty and shyness extremely quickly.

A small, sharp knock resounded on his door and Yuta sighed in frustration, chucking the shirt in his hand back down and walking back over to the front of his room. He was frustrated, angry confused and ready to snap at anyone who dared to disturb him during his hours of pining and whinging over a man who wanted nothing to do with him, because Sicheng had made it abundantly clear that—

The door opened, and it was Sicheng who was standing there, holding a small pile of black and red clothing in his free hand with his hand raised to knock again. _Oh_. Yuta’s expression instantly mellowed a little and the corners of his lips twitched, only slightly. “My Lord.” Perhaps he was imagining it, but he could’ve sworn that, for a moment at least, the taller’s eyes drifted down over the expanse of his chest and torso. He wasn’t as buff as, for example, Jongin or Lucas — he didn’t have that intense defined muscle they sported — but his body was toned from years of fighting and training; his muscles may have not been rippling, but his whole body was firm with them, enough to allow faint ridges across his abdomen and defined muscles in his arms when he moved.

“Yuta,” the other finally replied after pressing his lips together and meeting his gaze again. “Do you make a habit of walking around like this?”

He couldn’t help but grin a little at that, cocking his hip and leaning against the door frame. “I’m not walking around like anything, I’m in the privacy of my own room, trying to decide what I should wear for the little pissing contest tonight. Any suggestions?”

“I might be able to help with that,” is all he said before shoving the fabric forth until it hit Yuta’s chest, effectively covering him a little as he moved to grab them. Their fingers brushed ever so slightly and Yuta desperately hoped that the goosebumps spreading across his skin wouldn’t be obvious; it was an involuntary reaction, but one that happened every time they touched without fail. “One of those should do. Everyone needs to look their best for, what did you say? The pissing contest.”

Yuta couldn’t help but smile at that and turned to step back into his room, sifting through the few items Sicheng had handed him. They were all absolutely lovely and certainly of high quality, but above all, they were distantly different to everything else he’d been offered so far. Most things were just black, some fainting the slightest red details, but these? These had much more prominent flashes of colour. They were far bolder. Something warm curled in his chest as he realised that these weren’t the sort of things just anyone got to wear. It felt oddly like Sicheng . . . maybe _staking_ _some sort of claim_ was too extreme, but it was definitely a statement.

“The goal is to make them as scared as possible, right?” Sicheng gave a noncommittal shrug that faintly resembled some sort of yes. “It’d be good, then, if they thought you had a fae at your beck and call?”

“Probably. The whole point of you all coming along is to make them squirm.” Even as Sicheng said it, Yuta knew there was more to it. He couldn’t blame the sorcerer for being troubled after what’d happened to Dejun, but Yuta felt like his slow descent had taken a considerable dive ever since. He knew he was withdrawing from people. Isolating himself from everyone, save for that damned bastard who’d been hanging around like a dark cloud the last few days. Yuta was incredibly close to intervening regardless of the consequences.

His fingers settled on a jacket, all black save for the interior lining which was a stark red; it reminded him of what Sicheng had been wearing the first day they met. His mind made, he stretched and slipped it around his shoulders without bothering to place a shirt underneath, leaving each side completely open.

“I’m yours, then,” he declared as he turned to stare at the man in the doorway. If only Sicheng knew the true extent of those words. “You tell me what you need from me, what role you need me to play, and I’ll do it. I want to be there for you, tonight.”

Sicheng’s face seemed to flash through dozens of varying emotions before he settled on something absolutely frigid, physically recoiling and staring him down. “I don’t need _anything_ from you, All I want is for you to stay out of my way and leave well enough alone.”

“Sicheng, you don’t—“

“Stop trying to be some knight in shining armour. I’m sick of it— of _you_.” Without giving him time to answer and leaving him with a terrible ache in his chest once more, Sicheng walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Needless to say, Yuta was in _a mood_ by the time he headed downstairs to join the others, and that was something that didn’t fade away even once they arrived; if anything, his mood soured even more. Sicheng wouldn’t even _look_ at him. Logically, he knew that the sorcerer hadn’t meant it. It didn’t take a genius to see that ever since that day Sicheng had been trying to antagonise people and push them away, but still, the words stung more than he cared to admit. All he wanted was Sicheng’s approval and trust — the chance to prove himself.

His jaw ached as he ground his teeth together, the muscles there ticking with irritation as his eyes scanned the gathering. Pathetic, all of them. They were just selfish, pathetic humans, yet they’d made Sicheng’s life a living hell and driven him to do the things he’d had to do in order to survive and keep his people safe. Yuta didn’t feel as though his people were superior to humans by any means, but these people? They were degenerates. The lowest form of life.

Yuta had been keyed up for a fight for a few days, now, and tonight it was all coming to a head. Despite the fact that they’d all arrived here together he’d separated himself from the others mere minutes after they’d slipped inside the large tent, wandering off and moving through the crowd with no care for the numerous sets of eyes that settled on him with something predatory until he found one of the support posts to lean against. It wasn’t smart to go looking for a fight in most circumstances, but those circumstances didn’t apply to him.

He’d love to see these fools try to outsmart a fae. Yuta knew from the stories he’d heard that they loved to play as his people did — that they lied and manipulated and schemes — but they were amateurs. He’d always personally preferred actions over words but he knew that tonight he’d have to refrain, at least until he was given cause to retaliate.

It was hilarious, really. They were all like feral dogs sniffing around an injured creature, waiting for someone else to make the first move or for their prey to give them an opportunity to strike, yet the moment they realised that there was a more formidable predator in their ranks they backed away with their tails tucked between their legs. Once they realised what Taeyong was it was inevitable that the eyes on him drifted to his ears, too, and for once he revelled in the fear that began to permeate the air; how cute that they pretended that they weren’t and instead tried to intimidate him.

His eyes rarely ever strayed from where Sicheng was up towards the dais, admittedly, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings. Yuta could hear it all.

“I didn’t think they’d show their face this time.”

“What are they thinking, bringing all these foreigners here? It’s disgraceful.”

“Weishen’s gone too far this time.”

“Someone needs to teach them a lesson,” someone else seethed from the space behind him. “Liqiang should’ve been the final straw. He was coerced into going into that room that night, and look what happened to him — we’re owed penance for his death, and that bitch thinks she can just get away with—“

“Talk, talk, _talk_ , all you humans do is run your mouths,” Yuta drawled in a sing-song way, voice simmering with something dark and vicious as he turned his head just enough to look at the small group meandering near him that were dressed in familiar black and green.

“What did you say?” One of them — probably the ring leader considering the way they all rose up behind him — demanded loudly. His face was red enough that it looked like a perpetual sunburn. Probably had an underlying heart problem.

Yuta grinned, teeth flashing. One arm was folded over his waist and the other was propped on it, thumb rubbing over one of his other nails where his hand hovered in front of his chest. “You heard me. Honestly, you should really get your ears checked if you’re having trouble understanding me, but I think that’s the least of your worries right now.Didn’t you ever learn when to keep your mouth shut?” And there he was, turning impossibly redder as his companions began to get angry, too, all of them meandering towards him.

The main guy was a solid foot taller than him and twice as wide, but Yuta seemed impervious to all of that as the man stopped a foot or so in front of him and leered. It’d been a while since someone had tried to stand over him like this. To be honest he was just trying hard not to laugh in his face— no, he wanted to drag this out a little bit longer. Maximum impact, right?

“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” The man spat.

“Not at all but, frankly, I couldn’t care less. Do _you_ have any idea what you’re talking about, or do you just like spinning lies? Last time I checked, Liqiang was a piece of shit who couldn’t take no for an answer, not some sort of martyr. Sicheng did everyone a favour by getting rid of that pathetic excuse of a man.”

Yuta was pretty sure he made the guy pop a vessel. “Shut your fucking mouth. All it takes is a little bit of ass and you’re a loyal dog just like the rest, right? Gods knows it’s easy to enough to get her to open—“

Something shifted in Yuta’s gaze, and they must’ve noticed. That playful, cruel taunting was quickly washed away and replaced by something downright furious; his eyes were like dark, burning pits as they stared him down, the air around him practically crackling as his magic whipped around him, lashing at their skin. Even those with no magical inclination could feel the danger of it. Luckily for him, it made the man’s mouth click shut.

“One more word,” Yuta hissed, “and you won’t have a tongue anymore. Understand.”

Yuta wasn’t quite sure which of them actually threw the first punch, only that it wasn’t himself, and that was all that mattered. By the gods, all he wanted to do was hurt them, not in the way he was now where he had to pull his punches to make sure he didn’t go too far; he didn’t think he’d ever take joy in the fact he was so much more formidable than these humans, nor the fact that he could shatter bones with just one hit if he tried, yet here he was. He wanted nothing more than to feel skin and muscle cave under his touch, to make them bleed— to _suffer_.

Instead, he forced himself to focus on the knowledge of what would come after this. It’d be worth it if Yuta could contain his bloodlust. Yuta ducked and weaved and afforded himself a few hits here and there, but despite all of their effort the humans never had a chance to touch him. He made sure as many people were watching as possible, paying attention to every detail, every nuance, and then Yuta finally decided that it was time to end the theatrics.

“Fools,” he chuckled cruelly, words just loud enough for them to hear. “You think a cock makes you a man? He's ten times the man any of you will ever be."

A sharp blade came his way and Yuta pressed into it rather than dancing away like he so easily could’ve. The sharp burn of the metal carving through the skin of his thighs was extremely satisfying, and the smile on his face was something absolutely vicious as he watched the realisation settle into their features.

In hindsight, Yuta knew that despite their efforts there was no way Sicheng would’ve been leaving that place without blood, but as the situation quickly escalated far beyond his calculations all he could think about was how he had no one to blame but himself. _First lesson_ , a voice that sounded just like one of his mentors hissed in the recesses of his thoughts, _emotions will do nothing except get you killed_. Yuta didn’t quite agree with that, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t feel fitting right now.

The moment that Dao surged forward to sink formidable teeth into the throat of the guard who’d dared to threaten his master Yuta’s body fell into motion, almost like a reflection that tracked its movements; one second he was surrounded by mortals who were taking far too long to spring into action and the next a shockwave was rippling through the ground, disorienting them further, and the next he was moving up the podium. He only just barely managed to get close enough that the violent storm of shadows that erected a barrier between them and the rest of the room brushed against his back, knocking him forward.

“What are you going to do, Sicheng? _Kill me?”_ Yuta’s teeth ground together the moment her voice grated against his ears.

It was just the four of them — Sicheng, Kun, Daiyu and himself. To put it bluntly, she was grossly outnumbered and overpowered, yet there was no fear in her eyes even as Yuta stalked up behind the pair to settle just shy of Sicheng’s other side.

“I wonder, what could possibly have given you the motive to finally challenge me,” she laughed melodically as she too stood, silk billowing around her form. “You’ve never been brave enough before, so what’s changed? Surely the _unfortunate incident_ with your little boy toy is no worse than what happened to Kun—“

“What _you did_ ,” Sicheng all but snarled at her as his magic cracked through the air around them. Every hair on Yuta’s body was standing on end from the sheer force of it and, under any other circumstances, he’d be taking the time to appreciate that. “What _you_ did to him. No more games.”

Just like that, all that faux-innocence slid off her features like a perfectly crafted mask and her true features showed through. The glint in her eyes was sharp and remorseless as she settled one perfectly manicured hand on her cheek and grinned at them. The grin itself was far from kind and something Yuta could only liken to a snake baring its fangs before it struck. “Yes, what _I_ did, Sicheng, because of _you_. Some dogs have too much spirit, unfortunately, and the only way to keep them in their place is to use a firm hand — if only you’d behaved then none of this would’ve happened. The other one, well, it would’ve been no loss, really, but Kun . . .” As Daiyu trailed off those scarlet lips spread even wider, eyes trailing over to where the man in question was standing.

To his merit, Kun didn’t waver under her gaze. Yuta could see just how much this was tormenting him. The sight of her, the sound of her voice, those emerald eyes focused on him — his heart was hammering like a rabbit and Yuta could taste the deep, agonising pain which he had to be experiencing. Even so, rather than cowering away, Kun kept his head high and, for the first time that night, managed to meet her gaze.

“Now _that_ was a shame. You were by far my favourite pet, gege — so pretty, so obedient. You could’ve been so much more if you’d just minded your own business instead of fighting for someone who couldn’t even protect you.” Her grin became downright wicked, laced with something that was . . . well, it felt almost perverse. “Tell me, do they still ache?” Daiyu purred. “Do you still have the scars, gege? Do you think about me every time you see them?”

“I do,” Kun admitted honestly before Sicheng could intervene. There probably wasn’t any point in trying to lie to her about such a thing. “I think of you, and . . . all I feel is pity.” That wasn’t what any of them had been expecting. Daiyu’s eyes widened by the slightest of increments and her nails pressed a little firmer against her cheek as a muscle there ticked, betraying the calm, indifferent exterior she was desperately trying to convey.

“What reason could someone like _you_ have to pity me? You can’t lie to me, Kun — you revelled in every moment of my attention. You _craved it_. I could’ve said anything, _done_ anything, and you still would’ve come crawling back to me.”

“I pity what you’ve become,” Kun murmured. His voice was surprisingly even with the storm brewing behind his eyes. “I look at you and all I can think is what a waste.” The words were extremely mild in comparison to the things that had already been thrown around tonight yet something about them seemed to hit too close to home for Liu Daiyu. Her rage flared and, before even Yuta could react, Kun went flying backwards through the barrier and out of sight.

The power he felt from her . . . how interesting.

Sicheng’s head whipped back around once Kun disappeared and his lips curled into a near-feral sneer as his own magic slammed against her, hard enough to send her back a few feet.

“And you,” she seethed as her attention focused on Yuta, saccharine sweet and treacherous, “what could Sicheng possibly offer you, hmm? Power?”

“I have no need for more power,” Yuta snorted darkly, “but at least he doesn’t need to leech magic from others.” His eyes focused on the heavy emerald that hung around her throat, one the same otherworldly shade as her irises that flared and ebbed with her magic, and he knew Sicheng realised his meaning when his breath hitched behind him. “You’re not as dumb as you pretend, are you?”

“I expected nothing less of a fae.” One finger shifted to hook around the chain, displaying the stone forward for them both to see in a way that was dangerously (and, more importantly, foolishly) cocky as she smirked. “All of my people have vowed themselves to me — their magic is just as much mine as it is theirs.” Her own magical constitution was obviously strong, but no match for Sicheng; this, though, evened the playing field considerably.

“Tell me, handsome, _why_? Even he would surely be no match for you. Why bend to the whims of a mere mortal, especially when you have such a formidable leader? You could do _so_ much better.” Yuta’s eyes darkened considerably but there was an irregularity that settled just around his pupils; the dark brown of his eyes was near golden there, like molten amber swirling beneath the surface.

“What place is it of yours to question me then, mortal?" He mimicked, mocking. "Do you really think you could ever understand my motivation?”

Daiyu stared at him, considerable, and after a moment that seemed to stretch on as though for eternity something flashed across her eyes — it was something like a realisation.

“Dong Sicheng,” she crowed cruelly, “bewitcher of men, and now even a fae — is there no one you won’t let crawl into your bed?”

Yuta had been balancing on the tip of a knife all night, but this— this was what sent him plummeting down into that dark, vicious abyss that resided within the cage of his ribs. Amber spread like wildfire through his eyes and the air around them, despite the wild whirlwind surrounding them, became deadly still within the time that any of them could blink. “Just because you have to spread your legs for every man that wanders into your court to keep them loyal doesn’t mean that others have to lower themselves to the same level, Liu Daiyu. Your looks will fade and they’ll all leave you, one by one, for _him_ ,as you waste away into _nothing._ Even your name will be lost to time. The worst part, though, is that you will never truly know what it means to be loved, will you?” Yuta cocked his head, cold-blooded. “ _That’s_ the difference between you, Daiyu, and I know that’s what eats away at whatever is left of that withered heart of yours. All you’ll ever have is youself and your greed.”

A burst of green hit the spot where Yuta had been standing only a split second earlier and he grinned, his teeth sharp enough to question whether they were truly human. Liu Daiyu stared at him with a fury that was rivalled only by his own but deep down, underneath all that bravado, he could feel the way fear coursed through her veins, seizing her muscles. _Good_. He didn’t need a weapon to torment her, now his magic, just his tongue.

He was done playing with his food, though.

Before Yuta could take a step forward Sicheng was stepping past him with black wisps curling seductively around his arms not unlike vipers, rearing up and begging to be let free. “She’s mine.” Sicheng’s voice was quiet. Calm. Despite that, Yuta could still feel just how close to the edge he was.

Yuta had witnessed more magical battles than he could ever count, yet even those he’d witnessed in the capital . . . something about _this_ had them paling in comparison. There was a dynamism behind every movement that surpassed any fae, a weight behind each strike that should’ve been impossible for the likes of humans. Their mortality, despite being one of their biggest weaknesses, was also one of their greatest strengths.

With Daiyu drawing on the collective might of those she’d forcefully drawn into her cycle she was a worthy opponent; for every blow that Sicheng landed, Daiyu managed to achieve the same. Yuta wanted nothing more than to allow his human to work through this, to get the closure he needed that would only be afforded when Daiyu was no longer a concern, but he couldn’t just stand back and watch him recklessly put his own life on the line without any care or regard for what that meant.

Sicheng had been falling further and further with each day that passed, and for the first time, Yuta could admit that he was truly unhinged.

His body slammed into Sicheng hard enough to send him sprawling down onto the ground — a necessary evil — as Yuta took his place. Devastating, white-hot pain shot through his shoulder and arm as Daiyu’s magic cut through him, severing muscles and tendons and completely displacing the joint which had received the brunt of the hit. Yuta didn’t cry out, even as his teeth gnashed together and his face paled. He stared into Daiyu’s eyes, mere inches away from his own, and snared that necklace in the grasp of his free hand.

With such a strong magical talisman, breaking it would be near impossible — for a human. Yuta approached those iron bars which were hidden away so deeply that even he could pretend they didn’t exist when it suited him. It’d been so long since he’d done so and, as a result, the fierce beast which paced behind it grew more frenzied, pressing against his wards in crazed desperation that sent shocks through his body. Daiyu stared at him in absolute terror, and it stared back through the minuscule gap he’d afforded it.

The full force of his magic hit her — or, rather, the necklace. If it’d hit her directly there’d be nothing left attached. Microscopic shards of green crystal raced through the air from the force of the explosion, cutting into both of them, and he downright revelled in the agonised, inhuman scream that it ripped from her throat.

All of a sudden, there was nothing. No noise, no light, _nothing_ , other than the cloying, metallic smell of blood and the ragged breathing of Sicheng somewhere behind him. Yuta staggered on his feet as his body recoiled from the foreign, ancient magic which crept around them like a predator circling its prey, barely kept at bay, and reached out until he felt something solid. “We need to go,” he insisted even as Sicheng fought against his grip. Despite his injury Yuta’s grip (with his uninjured arm, of course) was like steel — Sicheng couldn’t break it if he tried.

As he stumbled down the dais, woozy as her magic tried to feed, a low rumble sounded near them; Yuta relied solely on his magic to guide him through the infinite, ravenous darkness, just as it reassured him that it was just the tigers following after them.

His only thought was to get Sicheng to safety. In that moment, he cared about nothing else.

Yuta would deal with the guilt that would undoubtedly seize him tomorrow when he realised that he left everyone else to fend for themselves, but for now it didn’t matter, not when they were all waiting outside the tent for them anyway in various states. Sicheng was _still_ fighting him for the right to run back in and finish what he’d started. It didn’t matter if Sicheng hated him for it afterwards — he wouldn’t let him die.

They weren’t nearly as far away from the chaos as Yuta wanted them to be when Sicheng wrenched himself back with so much force that he had no choice but to let him go so that the humans wrist didn’t shatter with the movement. Sicheng went tumbling down to the ground. “Wait,” the dark-haired male pleaded in a trembling voice as he dropped down beside—

 _Oh_. The sight of one of the tigers — Ping — prone on the ground and unable to push himself back up was enough to carve that ache in his chest even deeper, which was why Yuta knew that he couldn’t fathom how much more it must’ve hurt Sicheng in that moment. These cats . . . they were precious to him in a way that Yuta would probably never be able to truly comprehend.

On one hand, they couldn’t afford to stop. He had no idea how long the world would stay still for them and, despite it being helpful, he didn’t trust it. Yuta didn’t want to be here a second longer. On the other, he couldn’t afford for anything else to happen tonight. Sicheng was already . . . if he lost Ping now, tonight, after all that’d happened, Yuta knew it’d only add more fuel to the fire, one that was already wildly out of control.

“I won’t leave him! I— he’ll be fine, if we can just get him back to the house he’ll be fine.” Yuta knew that, even as Sicheng said the words, he didn’t truly believe him. Ping wouldn’t make it back there even if he was carried. The magic which flickered between Sicheng’s palms and the dying tiger did nothing to aid the damage which had been done, not even slow the process.

_Fuck it._

Usually, the fae wouldn’t be so quick to draw on his magic like this, especially not out in the open with so many eyes bearing witness, but that could be said for a lot of the things that he’d done tonight. Yuta hadn’t masked his true nature at all but, that being said, he couldn’t deny that he’d been trying to blend in amongst the humans here, to make things easier.

Even then, this would horrify his own people.

Yuta dropped down to his knees and ignored the darkness that prickled at the edge of his vision as he grabbed at Sicheng’s hands with his own, pushing them out of the way as best he could with just one, and shouldering him out of the way with his good one. “Just trust me,” he begged even through a pained grimace. “You won’t lose Ping — I swear. Get the portal ready.” Gods, it’d been a while since he’d experienced pain like this, hadn’t it? Even now Daiyu’s magic burrowed deeper and deeper into his skin, desperately trying to burn through him even though his body was naturally, though extremely slowly, ate away at it.

He settled into place and rested his hands over Ping’s torso despite the sharp stab of pain in his shoulder, and the moment he did he felt that terror, that confusion — Yuta pushed past the wrongness and the way things pulled and grinned together so that he could slide one hand, the one on his bad side, up behind his ear. The movements of his fingers were a little jerky as he scratched over the fur there and tried to numb what his friend was feeling in that moment.

“You’ll be okay,” he whispered as he bowed over the tiger to carefully rest his forehead down against his fur, inhaling deep and slow as he allowed his magic to flow forth. All around him, the forest came alive. Nothing was left untouched or unaffected, from the leaves that filled each branch to the trunks which creaked, each tree seeming to lean closer like swaying towards him, shaking him out. No forest could compare to the wildlands, but this one was far too happy to lend him its power; it sent forth exactly what he needed. Yuta’s eyes remained closed, his breathing mirroring the ragged rises and falls of the tiger's chest, as his power guided the vines to knit together torn flesh and take the place of everything that was missing. He’d often thought that it wasn’t dissimilar to what you saw when you came across a corpse in the woods, maggots and bugs writing under the skin and consuming whatever they could reach, except in the reverse. Rather than taking, his magic _gave_.

As the final piece settled into place and the wound was completely closed over, Ping breathed out one last breath, and Yuta sucked all the air he could into his own lungs as his body trembled under the weight of it all. His opposite hand flew up to the wound on his shoulder, masked by the blood-soaked fabric which was plastered to it, and this time no noise fell forth even as he sunk his fingers in and _pressed_. Congealed blood gave way to a fresh, warm stream which trickled down his arm and pooled in his hands. There was a hazy fog that had encapsulated his consciousness and had him moving on autopilot as he absently allowed that blood to pool in the tiger's mouth, dripping off large teeth that resided within that slack jaw.

His magic often had a mind of its own.

Seconds, maybe minutes later, Yuta couldn’t be entirely sure, the beast rose up from the ground as though nothing had happened and helped steady him with a warm head. It was only that warmth, which flowed from Ping into his own body and then his mind, that helped snap him out of it — muddled thoughts that offered no words or true sense other than feeling, sensation, and a vision of himself through foreign eyes. Gods, he really did look like shit.

“Yuta—“

Yuta rose off the ground before Baekhyun could voice his concern. The other was watching him with a mixed expression of horror, apprehension and intrigue, maybe worry, too. He didn’t have time to reassure any of them right now, not when the forest was screaming in his mind, overwhelming cries and warnings of the threats which were approaching,

“Get through the portal before they get here,” he spoke as he walked past them to where Sicheng was. He portal rippled in the air beside him and Yuta forced himself to focus on that rather than the sorcerer, not wanting to see what he’d find in those beautiful eyes. "Whatever happened has already worn off.” Ping had followed at his heel but broke off to stop by Sicheng and his brother; as difficult as it was for him to step through worth he felt better knowing that there was a bit of him staying behind. He needed to get out of here before it really hit him.

 _Bring him through_ , his mind whispered into the darkness as he free-fell through the portal.

When he landed, feet stumbling over dirt and grass before he could right himself on a tree, he allowed himself a small groan. Fingers dug into the bark underhand as hard as he could in an attempt to fight through the pain and nausea as his eyes threatened to roll back in his head. What had he been thinking? He was fae, yes, but the magic that Daiyu had been channelling had been formidable — it’d done a number on his shoulder. Still, it’d heal. He just needed to recoup, something that he had to keep pushing off.

Sicheng was the next through with two familiar figures at his heel yet before the human could open his mouth — which, Yuta could tell, was what was about to happen — more people started spilling through. The strong front he wore was growing dangerously close to fading but he refused to crash with Sicheng watching him like . . . well, he couldn’t put words to it. The other male took one step in his direction and the moment that Taeyong stepped through that portal Yuta was reaching out to grasp his shoulder firmly. He hoped it wasn’t obvious just how much he had to lean on the other fae’s shoulders to keep himself upright. Taeyong took one look at his face and that, accompanied by what he could no doubt feel, was enough to have his friend nodding.

As everyone regrouped Taeyong broke away with him to slip further into the woods after murmuring something into Taemin’s ear. Yuta was too exhausted to feel bad about the fact that so many people wanted and needed Taeyong right now, from his lovers to the two boys which they’d stolen away with them.

How ironic that the first time that Sicheng truly seemed to want his presence was the one time that Yuta had run away.

—

Yuta’s magic could heal, yes, but it didn’t apply to himself, which was why he had to rely on Taeyong to help close up that gaping, shredded mess that he’d been hiding under his blazer. The sight of exposed muscle and bone had made his friend’s hands shake ever so slightly as he’d worked, something he’d tried to focus on as his mind drifted in and out of true consciousness. Occasionally his body was wracked with violent shudders that let off waves of magic tainted with something bitter and vile.

He wasn’t human — this wouldn’t kill him, nor would it affect him in the long run, but that didn’t mean it was nothing. It fucking sucked.

“I’ll be okay,” he managed croakily after a solid two hours, laying on the ground and trembling as he squeezed one of Taeyong’s hands. “Go back. I’ll work through the rest.” He could see that Taeyong was reluctant to leave him out here like this but there wasn’t much of a choice to be made — he needed to weed this magic out of him and let his body finish what Taeyong had already fast-tracked, and it wasn’t something that Yuta could do within the walls of Weishen, especially not with so many humans so close.

“Don’t fight it.” Warm fingers gently smoothed some of the sweat-soaked hair off his forehead one last time. Yuta let his eyes finally flutter closed, not that he’d been able to see much anyway, and let his body relax as best he could down onto the damp earth beneath him. As it’d been since they settled here, the forest writhed in every which direction, more alive than could ever be considered normal. As he drifted once more a few words just barely managed to weave into his ears.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Yuta.”

His cheeks shifted ever so slightly in what probably should’ve been a smile. Yuta appreciated the sentiment. Taeyong was fond of Sicheng and considered him a friend, but apparently that still didn’t give him a free pass.

—

Yuta didn’t return that night. Hell, he didn’t even return the next morning, or while the sun was in the sky.

For countless hours he came to only to be dragged back under once more, his body and mind and magic all fighting against one another, each to them trying to come out on top, fuelled by that consistent pressure that strained against the borders of his thoughts. Claws continually ripped away at the barriers he’d carefully constructed over a century as the onslaught of thoughts and sensations overwhelmed his mind. At times the ache in his shoulder was drowned out by the way his rib cage felt as though it would give way at any moment.

By the time he really managed to get a firm grip on reality, it was late afternoon, and even then Yuta didn’t leave the spot he’d made for himself at the base of a large willow, tucked in amongst the roots there. It’d been the smallest of slips. The door hadn’t even been breached — he’d just allowed it to peer out, to catch wind of his prey; in any other circumstance it would’ve been fine, but the magic of so many, especially magic which was the antithesis to his own, had meant that even as it’d slammed closed cracks had fissured through the walls which had remained steadfast for so long.

It’d been near impossible to focus on repairing those whilst also trying to syphon out that poisonous magic which had desperately fought to take root in him. Even more so when said magic had left him looking like he’d been mauled by some sort of beast, not unlike the destruction the tigers had left behind. All that remained was red, shiny skin that would no doubt fade to white over the coming weeks; it was hard to scar a fae, but not impossible, evident by the marks he bore.

Even when he did finally make his way back to the house it was silently and unseen, slipping in through his window and carefully peeling away bloodied, dirt-stained clothes so that he could wash away all the muck and dress in something cleaner. Dinner had been ignored, too, though he’d at least let Taeyong know he was okay, and then he’d drifted off once more.

He woke to the oppressive force of a magic more potent and dark than anything even he had ever experienced. Yuta had sprung up from his sleep with a loud gasp as he tried to suck air into his lungs. It was on par with what he’d once experienced from the elders, but . . . stronger, if that was possible, like a culmination of more than just one origin.

Yuta had only encountered a demon once in all his years, but the signature was unmistakable, and underneath all that, tangled in its threads, was something even more familiar: _Sicheng_.

There was no time to arm himself. No time to warn the others either, even though as he flew out of his room he could see and hear other doors begin to open — that was the least of his worries. No, at that moment he wasn't ashamed to admit that there were no other thoughts in his mind, no other focuses other than the sorcerer. Of course he knew about the deals. Of course he knew that it was possible that Sicheng would try again. Yuta should’ve fucking known that it was inevitable after what’d happened, but even _he_ couldn’t have imagined that the human would go to such lengths. This, _this_ was beyond anything that anyone could’ve predicted.

Yuta knew, just as he knew that this was going to end horribly, that he had one person to blame for enabling this.

He would say that he saw red the moment that Huang Zitao’s face came into view, but that wouldn’t be accurate. It was more like the world narrowed down to just that bastard, tinged with vibrant blues and greens that flashed across his vision. Yuta didn’t remember slamming the man into the nearest wall with his magic so hard that it’d be felt for weeks, nor curling his fingers around his throat so tight that he could feel muscles threatening to collapse under his grip. A larger than he would’ve liked, primal part of him was torn between crushing his windpipe or ripping it out, but the more . . . civilised version of himself refrained.

“If he dies I will tear you apart with my bare hands, Huang Zitao. Do you understand me?”Yuta would’ve loved to have tortured him some more so that he could relish in the sheer terror rolling off of him in waves, but he didn’t have the time.

The supposed-prophet fell to the ground, gasping for breath, as Yuta turned on his heel. Bet he hadn’t predicted _that_. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end in protest as Taeyong called out for him, crying for him to listen, to obey, but he didn’t look back as he stepped down into the dungeon.

The sheer force of the magic whipping through the air was enough to have all of the bones in his body aching, straining against it, but there was nothing that could’ve stopped Yuta from reaching that room.

Sicheng didn’t seem to notice him at first, even if the monstrosity inhabiting Taemin’s body did, peering at him over his head with a sick sort of curiosity. No, his human only noticed when he broke past that first barrier that coincided with the candles, the one which was supposed to keep people out — people, but not fae. Sicheng whipped around so fast that, by the time he was about to take another step forward, he’d already realised who it was and opened his mouth to cry out a sharp, “stop!”

Yuta’s foot froze, eyes narrowed. “Don’t, please — you can’t break the circle.” He pressed his lips into a thin line and looked between the pair, from all the blood smeared around in old sigils which no human should’ve ever dared touch, ones that even he would err away from. He’d always adored that Sicheng pushed beyond the limits of what he should and shouldn’t do, but this? No. This wasn’t brave. It was foolish. More than that, it was a suicide.

“Sicheng,” he managed as he forced himself to put his foot down. This was no standard, decrepit demon, though none of them could ever be considered harmless. The sigils, the power, the fact that it was Taemin’s face who stared back at him rather than the illusion of a demon’s form . . . Sicheng had truly gone too far this time. It wasn’t something that could be justified no matter his intentions. Yuta’s fingers curled into white fists as he exhaled through his nose. “Don’t do this,” he reasoned. He had never felt more helpless. “Let me help you.”

Taeyong’s voice sounded out behind him, a grim reminder that he wasn’t the only one bearing witness to this.

“Taeyong, Yuta — _go_. You need to go.” Yuta’s eyes had never left Sicheng, not even for a second. He knew that he didn’t want to do this, not really. Deep down Sicheng had to know that this would never work. Then again, for a man who felt as though he had everything to lose if he didn’t at least _try_ , did that even matter? Sicheng had said time and time again that there wasn’t anything that he wouldn’t do for his brothers, and he was proving that tonight.

“Like hell.”

` The game that Sicheng was playing was a treacherous one, one that could only end in a set number of ways, and Yuta could say with certainty that each and every ending was a terrible one; he despised the idea of fate in moments like this but he knew that once the wheels had been set in motion there was no way to truly stop them. All he could do was try to minimise the damage.

“You need to calm down,” he heard Ten speak behind him, signalling his presence. Easier said than done. He could only imagine what Taeyong was enduring. “They feed off negative emotions. Fear, anger. Don’t let him in.”

“Taemin—“

“He’ll be okay.” The warlock’s words were far from certain. “Taemin is strong,” Ten continued, “we can’t break the circle, no matter what.”

“But Taemin—“

“Taemin is comprised of more demon than human and Asmodeous’s blood runs through his veins,” Yuta interrupted tightly, “his body can contain Asmodeous’s power. If we break the circle, he can wreak havoc on the world like you’ve never dreamt of. We can’t break it, Taeyong, even for Taemin.”

Yuta knew he was a hypocrite. Even as he said that his mind was desperately trying to find a loophole. Sicheng wanted power, the power to end Daiyu and keep his people safe, and it . . . gods, didn’t he realise? Yuta would’ve given him all that and more, and the most important part was that he wouldn’t have even expected anything in return. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done if only Sicheng had asked.

He had refused to take what Yuta would’ve so freely given, yet here he was sidling up to a demon. “And what shall I get in return? Such power demands a hefty price, little sorcerer. I’m not sure you could offer me an equal trade even if you wanted to.” Yuta’s skin crawled as the demon spoke, that purr making his stomach heave rather than coil with desire.

“You said it yourself — there’s nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice for power,” Sicheng countered as he drew closer to Taemin’s body with an expression that spoke of nothing concerned. One hand slid up the demons bloodied chest, trailing through the mess there idly, as he peered up through his eyelashes. Yuta’s heart seized in his chest.

“I thought you’d be far more appreciative of my offering, considering you’ve been after him for so long.”

Yuta had figured that this was Sicheng’s plan, but there was a difference between thinking it and having the confirmation spoken aloud for all to hear. He— _no_. He knew that Sicheng would do anything he had to, but this? It wasn’t . . . no, there had to be something else. Something he was missing. Sicheng would never allow someone else to pay the price for him, especially not Taemin and the others.

“Sicheng, please — this isn’t _you_. Don’t do this.” Even as Yuta begged he knew that Sicheng wouldn’t listen — he wasn’t thinking straight, and even at the best of times he was infuriatingly stubborn.

“How would you know? You know nothing about me.”

“I know that everything you do, you do for your people. I know they’d be lost without you. I know that you’re not the monster you pretend to be — _you’re a good ma_ —“

“Shut up!” Two syllables, yet they held so much weight, so much power. Yuta physically recoiled as though he’d been hit. Sicheng had tried to push him away countless times, yes, but it’d never been so . . . well, convincing. Sicheng’s eyes were burning with something that struck him right to the core, something dark and resentful without a shred of remorse — Yuta would’ve believed it, perhaps, if not for the raw agony that ran alongside it.

Yuta’s whole body was taut with tension. He bared his emotions freely on his face, not caring who saw. “You don’t have to fight the world alone.”

Sicheng couldn’t even look him in the eyes anymore. It didn’t make it any easier as he watched the demon drag his tongue over his skin, drinking down the fresh blood that it managed to coax out. He felt the bargain click into place and Yuta, once again, could do nothing but watch.

Perhaps he really was cursed, after all, for each and every person he loved to be delivered only the worst of fates.

Yuta’s eyes observed helplessly as the sigil he’d watched Sicheng draw into Taemin’s chest was hit with the full extent of his power, creating a vacuum effect which amplified the flow of malevolent energy which was surging through the room and forcing Asmodeous back. Not physically, but in every other sense. The second wave was even more powerful than the first. The house had been wracked with tremors earlier, but now even the foundations shook under the catastrophic magic which Sicheng unleashed.

He watched as The Matriarch managed the impossible and banished Asmodeous, but at the same time, he watched the man he loved seal his own fate.

Yuta was blown backwards by the force of it just like everyone else but he was the first to his feet afterwards, and the only one who actively pressed back against the overwhelming force of it to get closer to the source. Ten and Taeyong rushed to their lover as was excepted while Yuta fought past the shadows which ripped at his skin and made his bones strain under the pressure. None of it mattered — all that mattered was Sicheng.

Sicheng hovered a few feet above the ground only two or so meters away with blood trickling from most orifices, an expression of pure agony painted across his features as he once again attempted the impossible: absorbing the power of a greater demon. The difference, this time, was that he would fail. Yuta knew it. Anyone who saw knew it too. Most of all, though, he could see that as the seconds passed Sicheng started to realise it too, even if he tried to deny it.

“ _Sicheng_.” Yuta’s voice was saturated with desperation. “Don’t do this, please.”

“If you stop me, I’ll hate you for the rest of my life.”

“If I don’t, you won’t be around to hate me,” Yuta snapped in response as he took another insurmountable step forward. Sicheng opened his mouth to bite back a reply but all that came out was a strangled, anguished scream that tore through the room as the veins in his throat shifted from blue-green to a dark grey.

“ _I can do this_ ,” Sicheng barely managed. Blood spilt from his body as he heaved and choked on the liquid rising in his throat but he only continued to draw all that magic further into his body. Yuta was not going to stand back and watch this happen again. He’d rather die than have to live knowing that he hadn’t done absolutely everything in his power to save him. He’d failed Kangdae time and time again. He’d failed Sicheng, too, but the cycle would end here, one way or another.

“You can’t — this magic isn’t made for humans, Sicheng,” Yuta shouted furiously above all the noise. “There is another way, even if you don’t see it. I’m not going to let you die!”

“I don’t need your help _. I don’t want it_. Can’t you get that through your thick skull? You follow me around like a lost puppy and it makes me _sick_ , Yuta — you’re pathetic. I’d rather die than ask for your help.” Yuta thought he knew pain. Physical pain was no stranger to him and there’d been times when he’d thought even that would be enough to kill him. Emotional pain? Perhaps even more so. There’d been times when he’d thought that, for all intents and purposes, he was nothing but a walking corpse. To put it frankly, it would’ve hurt less for Sicheng to rip his heart out with his own hands rather than with his words.

The fae straightened his shoulders, inhaled and then softened his voice to the point that no one else would probably be able to hear him.“This isn’t about me. It’s about them — like it always has been. What good are you to them dead, Sicheng? Do you really think they’ll just go on without you if you fail? That they’ll accept your noble sacrifice? That they’ll survive any of this without you?”

“You wouldn’t let them die—“ Sicheng’s voice cracked.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Yuta admitted, bitter. “But I’m no replacement, and like you said, they’re not my people. They need you. They need you _alive_.” The tears on Sicheng’s cheeks doubled even as he struggled to keep his head upright and more violent convulsions wracked his body. Yuta didn’t know how he’d survived this long. Even just being this close Yuta could feel the effects on his own body — for one human to be at the centre of it all, to be the focus of all that wrath . . .

“Fae are selfish creatures, Sicheng, and I can’t let you die — _please_ , let me help you.”

It felt like an eternity before he got any sort of response. The sorcerer shuddered and dropped down to the stone beneath him like he was a rag doll; he crumpled into Yuta’s arms as the fae shot forward like he was already a corpse and just barely managed to bring his head up enough to meet his eyes as the energy around them still tried to find a way into his body. “I thought I could be strong enough.” His lips formed the words but he barely had the breath to put behind them. Yuta’s hand (the one that wasn’t holding him against his chest) cradled his bloody jaw and cheek ever so delicately. For so long he’d dreamt about what this would be like, to hold Sicheng in his arms.

“I’m dying, aren’t I?” Sicheng’s shoulders jiggled in a weak, macabre chuckle. “I can feel it.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“Why have you . . . I don’t deserve your kindness, but . . . please, Yuta, look after them—“

“Do it yourself,” Yuta laughed weakly, his voice strained and eyes burning with tears that he desperately tried to hold back for Sicheng’s sake as he brushed back some blood-matted hair.

Yuta couldn’t destroy the energy which had already taken root in Sicheng’s body, slowly consuming him from the inside out. He couldn’t turn back time, either, no matter how much he wished he could, but he wouldn’t have Sicheng die in his arms, either. He still had so much more left to give to the world. How many times had he wondered what it’d be like, hmm? To kiss him? Yuta couldn’t even call this a kiss. Their lips barely even ghosted against each other as he ducked his head down and rested their foreheads together, shielding Sicheng from the storm with his own body.

No, he couldn’t destroy it, but he could take enough away to give Sicheng a chance. “You’re going to live,” he whispered, just loud enough for Sicheng who was having trouble focusing on him. “I’ll be waiting for you every night, Sicheng, just like normal — I promise.” Maybe it was just a naive, childish story, but he hoped that he'd be up there regardless, waiting in the stars.

Something he couldn’t quite decipher surfaced in Sicheng’s eyes but it was quickly sucked back under — realisation, maybe, given the ragged breath that the human tried to take in — but it didn’t matter. Yuta allowed himself one more second to commit every little detail of the other’s face to memory and then he inhaled.

It hurt. He’d expected the pain, though, and it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Yuta’s body fought him for all of a few seconds as his sense of self-preservation kicked in but he was quick to stomp out that spark, forcing it to be receptive to the poison he was all too content to consume.

“Yuta?” Taeyong called, panicked, his voice almost lost to the ringing in his ears. “Yuta— stop. _Stop_. It’ll kill you.” Probably. He’d known that going into this, and it wasn’t going to change his mind; he wouldn’t regret any of it, other than the fact that Taeyong would be here to watch. Hopefully he’d forgive him — one day.

Yuta had spent most of his life being hated by others. It only made sense that it wouldn’t end with his death.

The magic he could still call on kept them all from interrupting as he drew forth as much of that wicked magic out of Sicheng’s body as he could, even after his human had gone still, barely even breathing, and as time ticked away, it seemed to slow. The screams and shouts faded away into blurs as his pulse slowed, grip faltering on Sicheng enough that he shifted in his grip; even as his heart struggled to keep beating he made sure to carefully flower them both down so that he wouldn’t accidentally hurt him when he faltered, each and every touch so incredibly tender.

Maybe this was the way it was supposed to be. The seer had told him all those years ago that their hearts weren’t fated to beat at the same time, after all — maybe this had all been inevitable in the grand scheme of things; he was infinitely lucky that he’d gotten these few short months.

 _Besides_ , Yuta thought when he couldn’t force his lungs to keep going and his head connected with the stone floor, _it’s not so bad when the last thing I got to see was his face._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always this chapter was unbetaed, so apologies for any mistakes♡


	6. chapter six | sicheng

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I don't know what it is, but you do things to me, lovely dark things. Even the gentle unexpected graze of your hand on mine is annihilating.' - beau taplin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while! I hope you're all doing well and staying safe ♡
> 
> Thank you for your patience in getting this chapter up. I've had a few things going on lately that have made it hard for me to write but I'm starting to feel better, so I hope that's being reflected in my writing. I really do try to constantly improve so that I can give you all the best experience I'm capable of, thank you for bearing with me ♡
> 
> This chapter, once again, is pain. Very pain. With a tiny bit of spice but probably not in a way you're expecting? It's probably evident in this chapter why this fic isn't standalone (yet) bc I didn't want to rehash literally everything in bloodlines (it'd mean at least another few chapters lmao and it'd be repetitive). It should make sense though, hopefully? As promised, things will be getting much brighter from now on as we've finally hit halfway, and the point from which everything will be entirely new content!! I'm very excited for this haha. Anyway, enough of me rambling, hope you enjoy ♡
> 
> CW (nothing new, but still):  
> \- moderate descriptions of violence, gore, minor character deaths  
> \- dysphoria  
> \- what could be seen as non-conventional self-harm

Despite his initial reservations, Sicheng quickly decided that Ten was by far the easiest to deal with out of the whole bunch and certainly more pleasant. He hadn’t stuck around long enough to see how the others interacted with Yukhei, namely because he’d been catching up on the sleep he’d missed through the night, but he liked what he knew so far. After all, Ten had been the first to cross the sea. He’d followed Yukhei from the start. Never left his side.

Then there was what he’d heard from his brothers. Sicheng couldn’t deny that there was a large part of him that was bitter and envious of the fact that they’d seemingly accepted this stranger into their midst so quickly, but he wasn’t _completely_ irrational. Ten — no matter how much he hated to admit it — fit in.

Sicheng didn’t exactly mind his company, either.

It helped that his presence helped soothed Yukhei; his brother didn’t seem anywhere near as resigned as he had been when they first brought him home, but he was still nervous. Fearful. His brother had so far refused to even leave his room, but that was going to change today — hence why he had Ten by his side.

He _knew_ why Yukhei was apprehensive, even more so today, and it wasn’t just because of the curse. Yesterday had been . . . rough. No, rough was an understatement. Sicheng had spent hours locked inside that room with the younger after he’d woken in the early hours of the morning from what could’ve only been a nightmare, based on the pale, clammy skin and teary, panicked eyes he’d been greeted with. He’d sealed himself inside with Yukhei before the others could intervene. Rather than instantly forcing down that malevolent energy which had started to claw at his brother he’d merely kept it tempered and allowed the episode to run its course as Yukhei alternated between sobbing and shouting words that he didn’t let burrow deep. Besides, none of it had been lies no matter how cruel it was.

He could’ve subdued Yukhei in an instant, but he _hadn’t_ — the few bruises that Sicheng now sported (all hidden, of course, because he knew what it would do to his brother to see them) were things he could’ve easily avoided. Sicheng told himself it was because it’d helped Yukhei work through the pain and fury that’d been consuming him but he knew better, deep down. He had a roundabout way of punishing himself.

“No,” Yukhei half-snapped the moment that Sicheng motioned towards the door. Part of him ached to see that genuine fear in the other’s eyes — not for himself but for others, because Yukhei had always been hopelessly selfless — but the rest of him decided this was where it ended. He was not going to tolerate the other being so fearful of himself that he wouldn’t even cross the threshold. “No, I— I can’t.”

He heard Ten inhale like he was about to talk. No doubt to reassured Yukhei that it was okay, that he didn’t have to — Sicheng’s instinct was to do the same. There was a difference between coddling and pandering to insecurities, though, something which was a very, _very_ fine line, especially in a situation like this. The sorcerer knew he had to put Yukhei’s wellbeing above his own emotions.

“If you think I’ll sit by and watch you waste away in this room then you’re mistaken,” Sicheng spoke calmly but with an underlying edge of something much sharper and authoritative. He couldn’t count how many times they’d had this sort of conversation as children. All it took was one moment to under years and years of work; a failure was always more influential than a million successes. “Your curse can’t do anything when I’m around, Xuxi. You know that. Unless you don’t trust me to be there for you?”

Maybe Yukhei _had_ changed over the years, but a person could only change so much. All his brother had ever needed was a push to get going.

This was no different.

“Of course I trust you,” the taller male mumbled under his breath as he averted his gaze. Sicheng hummed in approval and squeezed his shoulder before turning to arch an eyebrow at Ten, almost daring him to argue or speak up about his reservations. He would do anything for his brother _except_ allow him to sink even further into this despair. Anyone who had a problem with that would just have to deal with it.

The warlock stared back for a few long seconds before the set to his shoulders softened and he nodded. He was a smart man, from what Sicheng had gathered since they came here, and someone who could do what needed to be done regardless of what that meant; Sicheng wouldn’t go so far as to say that sparked any sort of kinship between them, but it was still a trait that he admired and respected. Something about Ten just . . . he was different. The other was obviously (and for good reason) rather careful around him but despite all that hesitation, he didn’t look at Sicheng like, well, he was a monster.

Sicheng supposed that Ten didn’t have a reason to believe that yet, something he’d experienced in person rather than rumours, but he wasn’t naive enough to think that it wouldn’t change.

Still, he trusted him with Yukhei.

Sicheng walked ahead of them by just a few paces behind them with his hands clasped behind his backs they made their way up into the main house and towards the doors which lead outside. Yukhei’s apprehension was palpable yet the fact that Ten had one of his hands, rubbing soothing circles over the back of his palm as Sicheng opened the door, was obviously aiding to keep him much calmer than he would be without it.

It was heartbreaking to see his brother flinch when the warmth of the morning sun slid across his skin. From what they’d gathered through their surveillance Yukhei had primarily been moving around once night came around during his little adventure and Sicheng couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this was the first time he’d truly felt the sun — as _himself_ — since he’d went off the rails. The universe was truly cruel to have given Yukhei of all people such a fate.

It could be said rather confidently that, for the most part, those who still remained at Weishen even after all these years wouldn’t have a problem with Yukhei being here; how could they, considering what Sicheng was? Even those who might have reservations would know to keep their mouths shut and said reservations to themselves. Smiles were what predominately greeted them, greeted _Yukhei_ , when they joined the considerable crowd going about their daily business in the rear courtyard.

It was Kun’s eyes on him that he particularly noticed. It was a bittersweet expression, a hybrid between something proud and concerned, with an underlying guilt that Sicheng was far too familiar with. The sorcerer offered what he hoped was a reassuring glance before guiding the pair at his heel over to a thicket of redwoods bordering the expanse of stone before them and offering a respite from the sun. Sicheng took his own seat and waited as the others settled in. Ten sat first, legs splayed out a little as he spotted the space in front of his lap and guided Yukhei to sit back against him, head pillowed carefully on his upper chest and shoulder. Larger hands encompassed the one that wrapped around to his stomach and Ten’s free hand settled over his hair in a way that seemed to make him melt.

Sicheng could at least (somewhat reluctantly) admit that they were endearing, like this.

They hadn’t been sitting long before a head of pale hair flitted over in their direction, not that Sicheng was surprised in the slightest. They all seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to each other. “Good day?” Taeyong asked as soon as he was closer with a blinding smile that made Sicheng almost want to recoil. He was so . . . _friendly_ , with no apparent reason. He averted his gaze from the trio and focused instead on watching as Kunhang and Dejun sparred across the court.

Sicheng should’ve been happy that Yukhei had such powerful lovers. A fae, a demon (for all intents and purposes) and a warlock that could hold his own amongst them. Then, of course, there was a matter of a king and his royal court. It should mean that he’d be safe no matter what, but he hadn’t been, had he? What point was power if they didn’t use it to their fullest extent? Sicheng would rather die than allow those he loved to endure such things.

From his understanding, Taeyong had a very, _very_ basic grasp on their language, which was why, as he tuned back into the conversation, he wasn’t anywhere near as surprised as he should’ve been to realise that Taeyong had mentioned sparring. Huh.

“No, I couldn’t— I don’t want to hurt anyone.” The moment that the words left Yukhei’s mouth Sicheng frowned and reached out to his brother.

“We can train later, Yukhei,” Sicheng reassured in a much more tender voice than he’d usually employ as he squeezed a firm bicep, palm rubbing over his arm soothingly. “You can’t hurt me, remember?” He hadn’t sparred with someone for, what? Months? At least months, but if he meant seriously then the answer was likely something that’d exceed a year. Still, he was more than capable of holding his own with a weapon despite the fact he essentially never carried one.

Then, Taeyong spoke again. Sicheng was more aware of what was going on this time and actually paying attention which was why it felt so disorienting to hear what sounded like flawless, accent-less words flowing from the fae’s lips in response to Yukhei, who’d been speaking his language.“I’d volunteer but I’m not a good fighter,” Taeyong chuckled reassuringly, “but we can work with it, Lucas — I’m sure Taemin wouldn’t mind, if you want to, or even Yuta if you’re worried.” Sicheng’s head whipped around and he couldn’t help the way he gawked a little. He— _what?_ Was it a fae thing? To be able to pick up other languages within a matter of days?

Part of him wanted to ask, but that’d only end in him revealing his, well, encounters with Yuta.

Taeyong raised his wrist up and showed off a quaint little bracelet with a shake as he spoke. “Yuta made it for me. He’s got one for everyone actually, but I’m glad it works both ways.”

“Yuta,” Sicheng repeated under his breath with a huff. The dark-haired male turned away and pursed his lips, brows knitted together as the pieces began to come together in his mind. A bracelet that obviously held some sort of enchantment which allowed the wearer and, apparently those around them to a degree, to understand each other regardless of their tongue. So Taeyong hadn’t magically learnt their language — which meant Yuta hadn’t either. Instead he’d been working to make these, and . . . for what? To be able to speak to them . . . to him? No.

“Can you tell me more about him? Yuta? I haven’t got to meet him properly yet— _ow,_ Ten!” Heat rose up under Sicheng’s collar as soon as Yukhei opened his mouth and he whirred back around just in time to see Ten pinch his side and pull forth a yelp. Always a troublemaker, in the best way of course, except when Sicheng was involved.

“Wong Yukhei—” Sicheng hissed in a whisper only to glance at Taeyong and press his lips shut. Of course. He could understand every word, now. By the gods, he wanted to sink into the ground and disappear.

“Sure,” Taeyong hummed playfully despite the chaos. “Where should I start?”

Sicheng pointedly didn’t open his mouth during the entire conversation, even as Taeyong and Yukhei spoke back and forth with a look that made him crawl under his skin. Despite the fact he didn’t talk he still found himself learning more and more about the pest that’d been following him around since they’d arrived. For one, Yuta wasn’t just a _fae_ (though that in itself was of course an interesting point), but rather someone who was rather important.

Sicheng knew next to nothing about their society for obvious reason considering no one even thought they existed anymore but he began to gain more of an understanding the more Taeyong spoke and, despite himself, he grew interested in what he heard. Yuta was no doubt powerful yet it was hard to reconcile the image that Taeyong painted — of a man who was still considered young for one of their kind climbing up their ranks so quickly and gaining so much recognition — with the foolish individual who sat on the roof each night.

Or was it? Was the Yuta in these stories, who was part of their highest order and a fierce, formidable warrior, so different from the Yuta he’d started to piece together, who joked around a lot yet seemed to hold a glint in his eye every waking moment, save for sometimes when they were alone? Yes, he was certainly . . . jovial at times when he was talking to Sicheng, but there were often times when he was more subdued and serious, too. The calmness that settled around him whenever he trailed off into quiet stories about the stars and his people’s religion (which wasbarely different from those of old) was something that Sicheng could at least admit was pleasant.

As much as he tried to play him off as nothing more than an irritating, grating fool, Sicheng _knew_ that wasn’t the case. He was incredibly smart. Perceptive. And, most importantly, undeniably inhuman.

Still, there had to be something loose up there for him to spend so much time trying to build a rapport with Sicheng.

“He’s the bravest, most loyal person I’ve ever met,” Taeyong admitted with a fond smile, but Sicheng could see that sharpness that lay underneath; it was undeniably directed towards him like some sort of warning.

Sicheng couldn’t fathom why.

—

He’d told himself that the matter of those late-night encounters would be dealt with quickly and discreetly, yet three weeks on from that first night there’d still been none where he hadn’t come across Yuta at some point. Then again, it wasn’t like he’d just stumbled across him. Those first few nights Sicheng had purposefully ventured up to the roof knowing what he’d find there. The nights that’d followed had been spent much the same, save for the fact a brief lapse of judgement had ended with them meeting in the garden — Sicheng’s private courtyard.

Sicheng didn’t afford himself many pleasures in life. His little garden, no matter how he struggled to keep the plants alive let alone thriving, was one of those things, and it wasn’t something he shared with many. It could probably be described as his happy place.

These nights, though . . . did he dare admit that there was a part of him ( _a very, very small part_ ) that enjoyed them? Sicheng would certainly never say it out loud but there was no point lying to himself. No matter how infuriating the fae was, he was decent company. He told stories that drew him in. Despite Sicheng’s own assumptions that Yuta was full of expectations and just trying to lull him into a false sense of security, he’d come to realise that, for the most part, he’d been wrong about that. Three weeks, yet Yuta had never so much as touched him, even accidentally. His words had never taken on any sort of sugar, nor anything sharp. No matter how rude Sicheng was, no matter how many times he offhandedly insulted the other, no matter how much he vehemently avoided any attempts the other made to get to know him, Yuta never left.

The fae had grown on him, unfortunately. Sicheng wasn’t the only one who’d been affected. His brothers had fallen to his charms rather quickly, certainly much faster than Sicheng had ever thought they would, and though he could see that Kun was still apprehensive there was no venom there. There was a small part of him that acknowledge that it almost felt like he fit in.

Of course, it wasn’t _just_ Yuta that had wormed his way into their life here. Yukhei’s little harem were . . . interesting, and not altogether unpleasant. Ten, in particular, seemed to have decided that he wasn’t too bad just for the simple fact that he was often hanging around him, even when Yukhei wasn’t there with them. He was incredibly intelligent and perceptive and, whilst he didn’t try to control him or criticise his decisions, he did give good advice. There was an air of mischief to the warlock that wasn’t so dissimilar to what Sicheng himself had grown up surrounded by.

The tigers tolerated him, certainly, but Yuta still seemed to be their favourite.

So, yes, Sicheng was . . . well, he was going against all the rules he’d laid out for himself over the years. He knew it was only going to end in disappointment and pain like it always did.

He couldn’t recall all of the insults he’d been slapped with during his life and Sicheng was used to them, certainly more than anyone probably should be. Even when they managed to find a gap in his armour he rarely let it bother him more than a passing ache. There was nothing they could say or do that would hurt him these days, except today . . . the words hadn’t changed. The intent hadn’t changed. Yet as one of Daiyu’s mutts spewed hatred into the room despite the fact they were outnumbered and captured, Sicheng couldn’t help the way bile rose up in his throat. His guests were bound to hear of these things eventually but, for the first time in a long time, it felt utterly humiliating. 

It was a feeling that Sicheng couldn’t quite explain — to see such rage burn in Yuta’s eyes as he pressed the man further into the marble floor with his boot and defend him like somehow he was worth it. Like they were lies. There was a lump in his throat and an unnoticeable tremor to his hands behind his back as some of that perfect control that Yuta always showcased slipped; how could he believe that it was because of him?

Emotions could certainly be a weakness for someone like him. Sicheng was so caught up in the chaos of his thoughts that he reacted to it all a little too late. His magic flared seconds later than it should've as he whirled around only to come face to face with a dagger. There was a brief moment where he braced himself for the impact of it and the inevitable pain that would follow — until he realised that the blade had come to a complete halt. It was only then, over the rush of blood in his ears, that he registered Yuta’s magic, too.

It was the first time he’d felt it.Yuta’s magic, that is. If he was being honest, Sicheng hadn’t quite known what to expect when it came to the fae, though he guessed that he’d assumed that it’d be similar to what he’d felt from Taeyong so far. Pure. Light. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

More than anything, it felt . . . comforting? _Warm_ in a way that Sicheng wasn’t sure he’d ever actually felt before. It filled the entire room and wrapped around him in a way that dragged an incredible amount of the tension that’d been plaguing him out of his shoulders, his breath stuttering as he stared at the blade, the one that Yuta had stopped. It wasn’t that same obnoxious purity that he associated with fae, not by a long shot — there was an edge to it that had a shiver running down his spine and a weight that, even with what was apparently only a sampling of his ability, was overwhelming. Oppressive, except that the word held negative connotations and Sicheng couldn’t find a better one to describe it.

It felt like an eternity but the whole thing occurred within just a few seconds; Sicheng shook himself out of his stupor and let his eyes fill with something dark and bitter as his own magic surged up around him. Their magic met halfway and, rather than clashing, it was a seamless transference that allowed Sicheng to throw that dagger back towards his assailant with a sickening thud. “You should’ve walked out,” he hissed, fingers trembling under the force of his rage as he turned them, directing that blade to do the exact same where it was buried within the other’s heart. Just as it would’ve been in his own had Yuta not stopped it.

Sicheng gave the order for the remaining scouts to be tossed back over the border — alive, because killing them would cause just as much trouble — yet when Yuta moved to join his brothers once more he found himself signalling for the fae to stay.

It took more effort than he’d ever care to admit to meet Yuta’s gaze with any sort of indifference, though Sicheng knew that he wasn’t doing a very good job at it today. “I could’ve defended myself,” he forced out through the tightness of his jaw. The blade probably would’ve landed, but it wouldn’t have . . . it wouldn’t have killed him for the simple fact that the energy that resided within him wouldn’t allow it.

He expected an argument or an apology — one of the two — though Sicheng should’ve known better; instead, Yuta smiled. “I know.”

 _I know_ , as though it was that simple. There were too many layers to that for him to unpack, not that he wanted to, and allowing himself to tug at the thread that’d been offered would just send him further down the rabbit hole. Sicheng couldn’t afford that. Now more than ever. If Daiyu was bold enough to send spies so blatantly . . . who knew what else was coming.

Sicheng’s eyes darkened and he forced down the emotions brewing in his chest as he turned away. “You may leave.” One moment was all he allowed himself after the doors closed once again before he was shifting to face Ten. “Come.” It was more of an offer than a demand. Dao butted his head up against Sicheng’s thigh with an impatient flick of his ears and the sorcerer huffed, patting at his muzzle. “We can continue talking somewhere else while they clean up.”

His garden (if it could even be called that, because it was a pathetic excuse of _anything_ ) wasn’t something that Sicheng willingly shared with many. For one, it was one of the very few places in Weishen House that people weren’t simply allowed to wander into of their own discretion. It was private. Special. As a child, this space had been filled with nothing but pain: blood and sweat and agonised cries, the crack of a belt, of a stick. Sicheng himself had been disciplined here more times than he could ever count.

With the Matrons gone he’d sealed it off completely and for a year or two, it’d remained completely untouched, just a patch of dirt and weeds that’d tried to fight their way up towards the glass roof. Amongst all of that, a flower. Sicheng had known that it too was a weed, but that little white flower had shown so much perseverance and strength, struggling to survive in such an empty, unforgiving place. So much pain, yet despite all that something beautiful had blossomed.

The flower had died, of course. As all things did. No matter how he picked away the other weeds that’d threatened it or kept it well-watered it’d faded over a matter of days, petals wilting and dropping down to the ground beneath. It’d died, but Sicheng had replaced it with another that he brought home from one of the neighbouring towns. And then another. And another. And more — not just flowers but other plants, too.

It’d be a lie to say that he’d ever been good at taking care of them. No matter the time and effort that Sicheng dedicated to them or the days when his mind would run rampant and he’d spend hours knee-deep in the dirt as he tried to keep the weeds away and the plants well pruned, they never seemed . . . happy. There was always faint yellowing or brown creeping at the edges of the foliage. It was all a bit limp. The flowers never had the vibrancy you’d expect. Things died — a lot.

But Sicheng never gave up.

A small pair of shears rested in his palm as he balanced another small branch in his other and gently clipped away the browning leaves there. Irritating, but familiar. Sicheng could never hope to stop the decay completely, only delay it, but lately . . . lately it hadn’t been so bad. Not perfect, but nowhere near as bad as it had been for years.

Deep down Sicheng knew that the improvements had nothing to do with himself. After all, they’d only begun after the first time that Yuta had accompanied him down here, and each night when they came here it seemed as though they improved. If Yuta wasn’t going to mention it then neither was he.

“The blade would’ve hit you,” Ten spoke up from somewhere behind him, making him tense up. “Yuta was faster than any of us — if he hadn’t been there . . .” Sicheng didn’t bother looking back at the other male. Instead, he snipped away at more leaves with a huff.

“I would’ve been fine.” _Snip_. “It’ll take more than just a mortal blade to kill me.”

“We’re only human, Sicheng, no matter the magic we have,” Ten spoke carefully, “except for Taemin,of course. And the others.”

“Perhaps.” Sicheng swallowed thickly and shuffled over on his knees to the next plant. When had he decided it was safe to turn his back on Ten? To talk about these sorts of things with him? Perhaps Ten trusted him because of Yukhei, but . . . it was for that reason that there was a chance he’d turn on him. Even though Sicheng would never hurt his brother, if they perceived him as a threat to him then it simply wouldn’t matter. “But I’ve made far too many bargains to die so easily; I’m not sure I would die even if they pierced my heart.”

Sicheng could practically _feel_ the moment that Ten finally put the pieces together in his mind. When he realised the truth of it all. The thing was, it’d been years since he’d tried to hide the nature of the magic that he carried — he didn’t talk about it, but he didn’t try to cover it up, either.

“You’re making deals with demons,” Ten exhaled, “like your ancestors. That’s how you got your magic.”

 _Finally_ , Sicheng put his shears down and turned around, sitting back on his calves and regarding the warlock for a moment. He waited for it. The disgust. The fear. Revulsion. Oddly enough, none of that came, and all that he could really make out was shock with an element of something that could pass as concern. One corner of his mouth twitched upwards, ever so slightly, and he blinked away some of that tension. “No. I was born with my magic, Ten, but I’m stronger because of what I’ve done. Just not strong enough, yet.”

Ten’s eyes grew even sadder. Sicheng didn’t understand _why_.

“Will it ever be enough?”

—

_Will it ever be enough?_

Light began to peek through his window as the sun edged itself ever so slightly above the horizon after a long, long night. Sicheng hadn’t been preoccupied with his guest for hours like usual. He’d only seen Yuta for less than an hour. But that time . . . it’d kept him up all night, restless and troubled.

_I wanted to rip his tongue out when he spoke to you like that._

_I didn’t care that he hadn’t hurt anyone yet or whether he could be useful, I just wanted to— how dare he—_

Yuta had been absolutely furious. No, furious hadn’t been the word for it, but Sicheng admittedly didn’t know how else to describe it. He’d never seen the fae so worked up, even when everything had actually been happening. Sicheng . . . he hadn’t known what to make of it at first. Even his brothers had never showcased such animosity when it came to defending him, not that he’d ever encouraged or allowed them to.

Yuta’s attitude had been fierce, like . . . like Sicheng was worth something. Like he needed to be protected, cherished.

 _You don’t see yourself the way we do_.

No, he probably didn’t — Sicheng saw the truth of himself that no one else did. He saw the horror. The helplessness. Even those who hated him could never despise Sicheng more than he despised his own existence.

_You want to know what I see when I look at you, Sicheng?_

Yes. _No_. Sicheng hadn’t known what he’d wanted. He’d gotten it anyway. Selfless. Brave. Kind. Compassionate. All things that he never had been and never would be, yet Yuta had said it all with such conviction, like it was _fact_. Sicheng had never felt more vulnerable; he’d panicked and done what he did best, which was lash out scare him away, except for the first time Yuta didn’t back off.

_Is that what this is about? I know, Sicheng. Do you really think that I care?_

Of course. Everyone did, even those that pretended they didn’t. Sicheng was used to that. He could deal with that. How was he supposed to deal with this, though?

_Do you think it makes any sort of difference, that I see you differently?_

How was Sicheng possible supposed to believe that it didn’t matter? Even if . . . even if there’d been not even so much as a trace of fiction in his words. At eleven he’d heard similar words from one of his peers, after all, and months of secret smiles and late nights spent whispering during the night were all thrown out the window the moment that Huiying had been forced to make a choice. She was intelligent. Beautiful. _Strong_. The sort of girl anyone would like, surely. She’d promised him that it didn’t matter and that she didn’t see him differently. That they were friends no matter what.

Her family had told her not to associate herself with someone like him and just like that he’d been cast aside; Huiying was the first and only person he’d ever been foolish enough to form any sort of attachment to, even if it’d been something purely childish and innocent.

_I know you won’t believe me. You have no reason to. But I’ll tell you as many times as it takes, Sicheng. One day, I’ll make you believe it._

Sicheng needed to be strong and put an end to this before it got even more out of hand.

—

No matter what had taken root inside him, Sicheng was still pathetically human. Weak. The next night he was back in his garden, his tigers as company, and the very man he’d swore not to fall prey to rolling around with them like he was simply another cat.

Every smile made his chest tighten. Every laugh made his pulse jump. Every glance of those too-bright, too-warm eyes had the ice in his chest thawing, little by little.

—

Daiyu had always been petty and cruel, but those words paled in comparison to the truth of what she was willing to do just to make him _hurt_.

The moment that Sicheng felt something slip past the wards surrounding Weishen, he _knew_ that something was wrong; bile rose in his throat, though rather than something acidic it tasted sharp and metallic. Zitao’s musings faded off into something unintelligible in his mind as those fine hairs at his nape stood on end and a feeling of complete and utter fear overwhelmed him. Even before he pushed himself up and ran from the room, he knew. Even before his still bare feet made contact with the path, he knew. Even before he rounded the corner, out of breath and blood rushing in his head as he idly registered his brothers following, he . . . he knew. _Dejun_.

Knowing something was wrong never could’ve prepared him for the sight that greeted him. There was blood — so much blood. It’d never been something that’d made Sicheng squeamish before, yet the way it clung to every inch of his brother made him want to retch. Hell, Dejun wasn’t even conscious; his body was absolutely lifeless where it hung on the back of his horse, swaying dangerously.

Blood dripped from his hands down to the dry dirt of the road.

Sicheng knew that Dejun was alive. Just barely. Even as he ran forward he could feel that with every second that passed, he faded a little bit more, slipping through his fingers like silk. He’d thought that he knew true fear that day when Kun had been dumped on his doorstep, bloodied and broken. The fear he’d experienced then couldn’t hold a candle to the sheer dread which seized him as he realised the severity of the situation.

Liena was towns away. The trip _back_ would take at least a day, though more than likely two. The healers here couldn’t handle the sorts of injuries Dejun had been subjected to.

Dejun would be dead by the time she returned— no, _he’d be dead before they even got a message to he_ r.

Sicheng had a split decision to decide what he was going to do and he didn’t hesitate.

He never bothered to carry any sort of weapon on him, but his men were always armed to the teeth, even those who weren’t suited to combat. As Dejun was laid out on the ground Sicheng took one look at the raw, bloodied mess of his face and reached back to snatch the dagger at Kun’s waist out of its sheath. Before anyone could even register that he had the wicked edge of the blade pressed against Taeyong’s throat as complete and utter desperation overtook him.

Taeyong stared back with a pained, understanding look.

“ _Heal him_.”

Taeyong was the only person capable of keeping his brother alive and . . . and there wasn’t anything that Sicheng wouldn’t do to make sure that he did exactly that. Fae magic would do what Sicheng never could: not only would it keep Dejun alive, it’d _fix_ him.

Jongin looked like he was ready to run him through with his sword despite the fact they all knew he wouldn’t dare make a move considering their situation. Taemin looked ready to simply rip his throat out. Kun, for the first time, looked scared. Not just of Dejun, but of him — of what he was capable of or what he’d do for them, maybe both.

 _Tick, tock_. With every second that passed, he felt that thread between them grow thinner and thinner. He was running out of time, and he—

Nothing.

It came back all at once and Sicheng sprung up from the bed he’d been placed in, chest heaving with panicked, laboured breaths that bordered on hyperventilation and a cold sweat over his skin. The moment his eyes opened he was reaching down inside himself to desperately check over those threads, energy tracing over each of them until it came to . . . gods, Dejun. The relaxation was barely perceivable as his magic curled around that damaged, worn thread, like a silent guardian, gently trying to mend the damage even though it was impossible for him to truly make a difference.

Dejun was alive.

The second thing that he focused on was finding him. He didn’t know what had happened or why he couldn’t remember past that moment, nor how Sicheng had ended up in his own bed, but there was a pounding in his head and a weariness in his bones as he ran through the halls, following an imaginary path. He could answer those questions later.

Sicheng almost didn’t make it into the room. Numerous figures blocked the doorway, their eyes filled with contempt and rage, and he couldn’t blame them, not after what he’d done, but it didn’t matter. Something dark had swirled behind his own as he stood up straighter. No one was going to keep him from his brother, not now, and if he needed to go _through_ them then so be it.

“Let him in,” a familiar voice called.

Slowly, reluctantly, they parted to allow him through.Sicheng couldn’t care less about them when his entire focus was on the figure lying prone on the bed before him. There were others in the room — Taeyong, as well as the rest of his brothers and some of their healers, and Ten — but their presence was something that he barely even registered as he moved forward, legs dragging him of their own accord until his knees bumped against the mattress.

Dejun was always so full of life, but now? Now that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Every inch of skin that he could see seemed to have been wiped down and cleaned, but the absence of the blood made everything a thousand times worse if that was even possible. Before it’d masked the true horror underneath and without that veil of crimson there was no barrier between Sicheng and the truth of what they’d done to his brother. Even though Taeyong had obviously worked miracles there wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t covered in bruises or bandages; the rest was brutal, a morbid patchwork of black and purple overlaid with white bandages, some of which sported a faint spotting of blood here and there.

Dejun’s hands were encompassed in varying splints where they lay above the blanket yet even from here Sicheng could see that they weren’t . . . weren’t _right_. They’d been shattered, Sicheng realised. Carved through. It felt like his own heart was being carved out of his chest as he ever so gently lowered himself down to sit on the edge of the bed (as though he thought that the faintest movement would wake Dejun or cause him more pain), shoulders trembling.

His face was perhaps the hardest to look at. It was hard to reconcile what he saw with the face that had smiled at him only days prior. There was lots of swelling which immediately drew the eye and beneath it all was more pain and suffering that he’d failed to protect him from. Long, jagged cuts across his features that’d been stitched back together. The area around his closed eyes was so badly bruised that it looked black and the surrounding blood vessels seemed burst under his skin. Sicheng was no stranger to torture and he knew just how much it took to leave someone in such a state — after a considerable amount of healing.

Sicheng found himself unable to look any longer and bowed his head down to hide as angry, hot tears spilt from his eyes and trailed down his face. Even if they weren’t visible there was no denying the shake to his shoulders or the wet drops that slid down onto the sheets, nor the painful clenching of his hands which left them white.

What was the point of anything if he couldn’t even keep them safe?

Sicheng sat there for . . . well, he didn’t really know how long, only that when he finally looked up it was only himself and Taeyong who remained, the other dabbing at the sweat beading on Dejun’s brow. Even now his brother was suffering as his body fought or repair itself with the aid of Taeyong’s magic and there was absolutely nothing that Sicheng could do to help him.

“Thank you,” the sorcerer rasped, voice nearly painful with how hoarse it was. Taeyong’s hand only paused for half a second before he was continuing, though he did glance his way.

“You have nothing to thank me for. I never would’ve let him die.”

Sicheng’s throat grew tighter and he gritted his teeth together behind closed lips. He’d held a knife to Taeyong’s throat. Threatened him. Even though he knew deep down that the fae would’ve done everything in his power regardless. He knew that he was close to his brothers.

Could he really have done it? Killed him?

He couldn’t quite bring himself to apologise knowing that, even if there would’ve been an element of regret, he’d go through the same actions a thousand times over for the sake of his brother. Instead Sicheng set a hand on Taeyong’s shoulder and pushed forth as much of his own magic as he physically was capable of; not an attack, but a transfer. Sicheng was no healer, but energy was energy, and right now Taeyong could harness it to help Dejun.

“Let me know when he wakes.”

The truth was, Sicheng didn’t know if he could’ve killed him, even if it was necessary, and the realisation was scarier than it should’ve been. Downright terrifying, really. He needed to be able to push his own feelings aside and do the best for his people, his brothers, because that was the only way to keep them all alive in a world like this, but people like this(like Taeyong, like Ten, like _Yuta_ ) made it so impossibly difficult.

Yuta wasn’t likely to be a problem anymore, though. Sicheng had been witness to the fae’s temper before yet he’d never had it directed his way, not like this, and the worst part of it was that if it were just rage he could’ve ignored it. He was used to that. But it _wasn’t_. It was clear as day just how much his actions had hurt him. Hurt . . . how inadequate compared to the agony he’d seen simmering in Yuta’s eyes, or that desperation that’d been laced into his voice.

Yuta begged.

“I told you about the oath I swore; you _know_ that if you ever tried to hurt him that I’d have to step in. Please, _please_ , don’t make me hurt you. Don’t try and make me your enemy.”

If that was what he needed to do . . . it would hurt him every step of the way, but what other choice did he have? He'd been walking this same path, alone, for years, and it was too late for him to ever turn back.

—

Warm lips grazed against his own and Sicheng shuddered, heat curling low in his gut as his fingers tightened around the wrists he held, pressing them further into the sheets. He was far too aware of the body beneath him — a lean, muscled chest that was glistening with sweat, stuttering with each press of his lips and arching up against him. Sicheng’s teeth closed around his bottom lip, just enough to sting and pull forth a gasp, and then he was pulling back. His own lips were spit-slicked and swollen as he stared down into endless dark pools that were filled with heated desire and mischief.

“You look so hot when you’re all riled up,” Yuta breathed out through a lazy grin. His arms pressed against Sicheng’s grip just enough to make him exert more pressure — something that had the fae’s eyes fluttering even though they both knew he could break out of it in an instant — and Sicheng let out a huff. His whole body was buzzing with a rush more potent than anything he’d ever felt as the other male squirmed beneath him a little, almost teasing, really.

“You talk too much.” Sicheng’s words held no bite to them, only a soaring heat.

“You’ll just have to shut me up then—“ Sicheng’s head ducked down and his teeth pressed into the flesh of his chest, indenting into the skin of his pectoral and ripping a hiss out of Yuta’s throat which shifted into a moan that barely sounded human. Something dark, vicious. His grip was thrown off with ease (not that Sicheng really tried to force his hands back down) and Yuta dragged him back up into a filthy kiss that was all tongue and teeth.

Warm hands slid down his back, down bare skin, grabbing at him almost greedily in a way that made him preen. One of the most powerful creatures in the world and Sicheng had reduced him to this — desperate, frenzied, reverent. Those same hands settled on his waist and squeezed, which was the only warning Sicheng had before he was being flipped over with inhuman speed and pressed down into the bed in Yuta’s place. The look on his lover’s face was absolutely feral yet that roguish grin didn’t have his skin crawling. Instead Sicheng’s body was thrumming with anticipation as wet lips trailed down his torso, every muscle twitching in his wake.

Yuta let out a long, satisfied hum and settled down between his thighs with a ravenous look, head pillowed on his thigh as he stared up at him. It was like he was ready to eat him alive. “Gorgeous,” Yuta murmured with lidded eyes.

There was hunger, yes, but Yuta didn’t look at him like he was something to possess, to conquer — no, he looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

“Beautiful,” Sicheng answered quietly, _honestly_ , voice thick as his fingers carded through Yuta’s hair and he—

Sicheng startled awake from where he’d fallen asleep at his desk and winced, rubbing out the crook in his neck. There was a cool night breeze blowing in from the window but it did nothing to ease the heat in his cheeks, nor his core.

Shit.

He— it’s not like he’d never experienced a dirty dream before, though Sicheng can’t say it’d ever been a common occurrence, not with that absolute disconnect between his mind and his body. Still, it was jarring to wake up from . . . _that_. It wasn’t a nameless figure his mind had conjured up: it was Yuta. It wasn’t even sex — not really, not in the way he’s always known it — but instead something far more intimate and personal. The way the Yuta in his dreams had looked at him, had touched him, had _wanted_ him . . . it was exactly that: a dream.

Even if he could acknowledge that there was a small part of the fae that held some semblance of attraction towards him Sicheng knew that it wasn’t the same. In the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind, locked away, were his most selfish, indulgent desires. Things he would never admit to wanting. It was partially for his own sake but there was also the matter of shielding others from those intrusive thoughts that consumed him in the late hours of the night.

As much as Sicheng had tried to pretend it wasn’t the case he knew he couldn’t fight to keep this part of him buried forever; it was the naive, foolish part of himself that’d never quite grown up and, no matter how small it was, it was stronger than he’d ever wanted it to be. It was filled with wistfulness and hope and, above all, an overwhelming desire to be loved.

(Beneath all that there was something far less innocent and pure, instead something violent and ravenous that _demanded_ it. Sicheng had never imagined that one person would be able to mix all of these emotions together so potently.)

He wanted Yuta. Maybe more than he’d ever truly wanted anything in his life, at least for himself. Sicheng wanted Yuta and the life that it would mean, one that filled that aching chasm in his chest and made him feel whole for the first time in his life. He wanted those secret smiles and fleeting touches, the early mornings and long nights, even the bickering and frustration.

Sicheng wanted all the things he could never have. He wanted what he wasn't allowed.

The sorcerer forced the image of him from his mind with minimal success and instead turned his gaze back down to the books sprawled out before him, some of them older than even the ancient house they inhabited. Sicheng almost didn’t want to know were Zitao had gotten a hold of some of these but he wouldn’t be asking regardless. This, for once, made him apprehensive. Unsure.

Summoning demons was a feat that most mortals wouldn’t dare attempt, but Sicheng wasn’t most mortals. Bargaining with them, too, was already pushing the boundaries of what was possible. Summoning an _Arch Demon_ and attempting to steal their power?

It was suicide, surely, and whilst Sicheng wasn’t _most mortals_ , he was still human for the most part.

If he failed then it’d be game over. No going back. Sicheng would die, and with his death, the demon would be cast back to the pits of wherever it came from. Sicheng couldn’t commit to this knowing that there was such a large margin for failure, especially knowing that he’d be abandoning his brothers if the worst were to happen.

No, this would be a last resort. Sicheng knew his limits and this would have to be a desperate, last-ditch effort if things went to absolute shit and his back was against a wall. With no way out then, maybe, he would consider it.

—

Sicheng knew he was slipping. More and more often he was struggling to keep himself under control and the smallest things were setting him off, leading to outbursts that, whilst tame for most people, were rather out of character for him. His temper flared far too often and often resulted in him spouting things he’d never mean, words that he _knew_ would hurt, things he said simply for the sake of pushing away those he cared for. Things would be infinitely easier if they were all out of the way. It would destroy what good there was left in him, but Sicheng would bare with those he loved hating him if it meant keeping them safe.

Still, every bite hurt him just a much as it hurt them. Every time he brushed them off his chest would ache and every time he saw their features crumble or harden he’d have to remind himself of why this was all necessary just to keep himself from caving. Sicheng would never forgive himself for this. Even if it was for their own good he despised himself more than ever for being a source of their pain and worry. It haunted him in the hours he should’ve been sleeping — the agony in their eyes, a tremble of a bottom lip or unshed tears, out of rage or sadness. Clenched fists and teeth and the occasional insult thrown back at him.

Despite everything his brothers refused to give up on him. Stubborn bastards.

It was the same with . . . them. The more he pushed the closer they seemed to try to get, whether that was Ten or Taeyong, and Yuta, gods, even thinking his name made Sicheng want to scream. Every time he looked into those eyes he felt like they saw right through him. No matter how horrible he was, he refused to turn his back on him. Instead, he just kept offering more and more of himself.

Didn’t he know how selfish Sicheng was? How all he wanted to do was take and take until there was nothing left for him to take?

“I’m yours, then.” Yuta didn’t realise what he was offering or what those words did to Sicheng.

Sicheng didn’t — would never — deserve him. He didn’t deserve his loyalty or his trust. Didn’t deserve to lay eyes on him, to be able to travel over the contours of his chest and stomach with his eyes as they prepare to face Daiyu and wish it was his fingers instead. Didn't deserve to see him cloaked in _his_ colours. He didn’t deserve the silence that followed his viscous tongue rather than fury.

He didn’t deserve it, yet Yuta still followed him. Defended him. Fought for him. Sicheng didn’t deserve any of it at all, yet Yuta still bled for him as though it was an honour to do so.

And then Yuta simply stopped, leaving Sicheng completely untethered and lost, sinking in the aftermath of that cursed night and everything that’d happened. Sicheng had pushed and pushed and pushed yet he hadn’t realised exactly what it would do to him for Yuta to turn his back on him and leave, just like that. It was ironic, really. Ever since he’d arrived Yuta had always been the one to seek him out and initiate a conversation yet the one time when Sicheng buckled under the weight of everything and wanted to lean on him he walked away.

Sicheng should’ve been happy. He’d succeeded in doing what he’d been trying to for months. So why did he feel so empty — so lost? He knew the answer, deep down, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

“I could’ve killed her tonight. Why did you stop everything?” Sicheng rasped the moment that Zitao showed his face again in the early hours of the morning, far before the sun even rose. He was still in the same clothes he’d attended in with blood smeared in a few places and a splattering of wounds that were already closing. His magic didn’t heal, but it liked to keep its vessel running as smoothly as possible.

Sicheng was sitting on the cold tile floor of his bedroom with his back against the side of his bed, one tiger half wrapped around his side and the other curled with its head pillowed in his lap, fast asleep. He’d promised all those years ago to keep them safe yet tonight he’d watched Ping die, and he’d been helpless to do anything but stand by. If it hadn’t been for Yuta, who’d already sacrificed too much tonight and had looked like he was on the verge of bleeding out too, he would still be dead.

He’d gotten his first proper look at Yuta’s magic as he’d worked an absolute miracle and Sicheng had only fallen deeper into the hole he’d dug himself.

“It wasn’t her time to die tonight,” Tao spoke as though Sicheng truly cared about the will of the gods. “It wouldn’t have ended well.”

Silence stretched between them for a few minutes, thick and cloying, and then Sicheng looked up, tears pooling in his eyes as his shoulders shook and he struggled to keep the air coming into his lungs. “I’ll do it. What you suggested. You were right, ge, I don’t have any other choice.” _Ge_. The only person he’d ever called that was Kun. Zitao had been by his side for years and even though they’d grown closer and he trusted him he just— he hadn’t realised before how he was the only one he could truly trust to understand. To stand by him no matter what he had to do. To help him. “I’m sorry I didn’t agree sooner I just thought— I thought that tonight I could just end it and that it’d all be okay and—“

Sicheng couldn’t get any more words out as his throat tightened even more and he threw his head back, squeezed his eyes shut and let out a broken sob. It hurt so much. He didn’t _want_ to betray them. Even after everything he’d done they’d stood by his side and supported him despite the fact they held no obligation to do so. Ten had said they might as well be brothers. Taeyong had called him _family._ He . . . he wanted . . . it didn't matter what he wanted.

They would never forgive him for this — if he even survived. Even though Taemin would survive regardless with little to no physical damage and, hopefully, nothing too severe mentally, Sicheng’s betrayal would not be something that they’d ever move past. He’d lose Yukhei, too. He’d probably lose the rest of his brothers after they realised the horror of what he’d done.

Even if he survived, Sicheng would lose _everything_.

Tigers shifted with irritated snarls as Tao crouched down and pulled him into his arms, tucking him in close like a child; Sicheng was shaking so much that he didn’t feel the tremble in Tao’s hands, and in this position he couldn’t see his face nor the troubled expression there. “It’s okay,” Tao soothed, voice thick. “If anyone can do it, Sicheng, it’s you.”

—

Sicheng had been told ever since he was a child that he was overambitious. “It’s impossible,” they’d said, laughing and sneering.

“It’s only impossible because I haven’t done it yet.”

It was a solid idea, right? It’d kept him alive and succeeding this long, but behind all the hard work and pain there’d always been an element of luck, as well as a timer that was ever so slowly ticking away, counting down until the day he eventually found that some things were truly impossible, even for him.

Sicheng had done things that no mortal ever should’ve been able to achieve. He’d survived things that no mortal should have ever walked away from. He was a macabre oddity, a flaw in the fabric of their world, but in the end, despite everything, he was still what he’d been born as. Mortal. Painfully so, he realised as he felt his body begin to fail him.

Deep down he’d known that he was destined to fail. It was only as the failure became imminent that Sicheng realised that Tao, with all his knowledge, would have known this too — before he’d ever dropped that damned book in Sicheng’s lap. A final stab of betrayal even as he finally gave up and let his body fall to the ground like a stone weight.

In the end, Zitao hadn’t even had the guts to be here for him.

It was Yuta’s tear-stained face that Sicheng was blessed with in his final moments. Yuta’s arms that cradled him close and provided just a faint amount of warmth which he slowly lost to that ice-cold stillness which spread through him, clawing deeper and deeper, consuming. All Sicheng could taste and smell was blood, but all he could see was _him_.

All at once, the pain vanished, as did the panic and fear. Sicheng was left with an overwhelming sense of . . . of calm, of content. His hearing drifted in and out, barely able to perceive words, but he caught the tail end of it.

“I’ll be waiting for you every night, Sicheng, just like normal — I promise.”

That sounded nice, Sicheng thought to himself, as his eyes began to roll of their own accord. He’d struggled for so long to keep them open, but why? He didn’t know anymore. Why had he tried to fight it for so long? Why had he continued to subject himself to all that torment when, if he’d just let go, it’d all go away?

 _I regret that I didn’t cherish what I had before I lost it_.

Warm breath puffed over his face, followed by scorching lips. Sicheng’s grip loosened and the darkness rose to greet him, wrapping around him like a warm blanket as he was dragged under.

Death was nothing for a long time. Sicheng wasn’t sure just how long, only that it felt like a long time, as much as he could feel in that floating emptiness that he found himself suspended in. Thoughts came and went, never making much sense. Eventually there came noise — unintelligible and muffled at first but slowly growing clearer until he realised it was voices. His brothers. His . . . his friends (not that he deserved to call them that). Sicheng supposed that he deserved to be tormented by the voices of those he’d left behind, as a reminder of what he’d lost.

Death was endless, weightless, _dark_ — until it wasn’t.

Familiar fingers carded through his hair as the fuzziness in his mind began to clear, slowly and comfortably, like waking up from a good dream. Soft blankets were wrapped around him and he could feel a faint breeze dancing over his face, as well as the chittering songs of birds outside the window. Sicheng laid there like that for . . . well, he wasn’t sure how long.

He knew those hands. Sicheng had grown up with them wiping away his tears and bandaging up all his scrapes. Had fallen asleep to them in his hair, just like now, as Kun’s voice trailed off into bedtime stories to soothe him when he was troubled. Sicheng laid there, awake, and didn’t dare open his eyes. Perhaps this punishment was even more fitting; to have to face the consequences of his actions.

Eventually, he mustered up the courage to let them inch open. The first thing Sicheng saw was light — blinding, searing light which had him fighting back a wince as he blinked rapidly, trying to shield himself from it. As the seconds passed it grew more and more tolerable until he could make out faint shapes around the room. Then, as it sharpened, his gaze ventured to his left, where Kun was sitting on the edge of the bed and staring out the window, still petting his hair.

For a few brief moments all Sicheng did was stare. The more he looked, the more he realised that this was real, that he was awake — _alive_ — the more his eyes burned and burned, until hot tears began to streak down his cheeks and drip onto the pillow. Maybe he inhaled too sharply or maybe Kun just _knew_ , because all of a sudden those warm brown eyes were dipping down to him and widening in shock.

Sicheng waited for it. He wasn’t quite sure what _it_ was — probably anger or disgust or something else terrible. _It_ never came, though, not in the way he expected. Instead, he was greeted with tears that mirrored his own as Kun’s head slumped down and sobs wracked through him. Sicheng’s chest twisted painfully until he realised that Kun was . . . he was _smiling_.

Warm arms wrapped around him as Kun held him close, still crying. For once, Sicheng didn’t try to fight to keep it all together and instead allowed himself to fall apart in his brother’s arms, gripping at him like when he was a child and crying uncontrollably into his chest.

“I’ve got you, didi. I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * _didi -_ younger brother
> 
> this chapter is unbeta'd, so apologies for any errors!
> 
> as always you can find me on twitter: https://twitter.com/peachxi1
> 
> and cc: https://curiouscat.me/peachxumars


	7. chapter seven | yuta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'some hearts understand each other, even in silence.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a day late, but better late than never, right? (￣▽￣*)ゞ
> 
> hope you're all doing well! This chapter finally starts to get into post-bloodlines (to a degree), which will be a common theme for the rest of the fic. There will be mentions of the other characters throughout but the main focus will be yuwin, promise, and lEMME TELL U, even if it gets a bit angsty, we're on the final stretch now. Look at them, being all in love and stuff. *sighs* good shit
> 
> I haven't been online as much and often struggle to reply to each and every comment (i hate sounding repetitive ;;) but I promise that I read each and every one of them and that they all mean the world to me. I love hearing your thoughts on each chapter.
> 
> me: already has too much lore to even remember   
> also me: shit, let's add even more

Yuta hadn’t been sure what to expect of death. 

Whilst he’d grown up learning the teachings of the old religions, they weren’t practised as strictly or truthfully in the capital as they were in the more remote parts of their kingdom — their world. Ilios had long since twisted the ancient teachings to fit their own agenda and liking. Depending on who you asked you’d get a completely different answer when it came to the question of what happened once you took your last breath.

One of the most prominent beliefs — the one that most variations stemmed from — suggested that, in some manner or another, they returned to their creators when they died. The ones they’d descended from. Some souls would spend eternity in the stars, watching over them as benevolent protectors; others would choose to live once again, reborn into new bodies and new minds. Of course, no one had proof of either of those.

There were others who believe that their souls never left the earth and were instead tied to it in some way or another. Others believed that only those who’d been wronged or were unable to let go after death remained. That, at least, Yuta could find substance in; after all, how many times had he come across the remnants of exactly that during his years serving under the crown? Perhaps it was simply because he had a unique affinity for death but he’d always been able to feel it, clinging to some, lingering after others had passed. 

One thing was evident: there was  _ something  _ after death.

How else could he explain those vengeful, twisted remnants which he’d come across so many times, desperate for revenge or compensation or even just for someone to know their story? So no, Yuta didn’t believe that every soul remained, because he’d only ever come across the monstrous or the wronged. He’d put more to peace than he could ever count.

Of course, there were still other things that people believed, and the general consensus amongst most beliefs was that those who’d done good in their life were rewarded, whereas sinners were punished. His own, ever-changing beliefs centred around that, too: the good would be free to join the stars, but the bad? They would never know peace.

Taking that into consideration, Yuta supposed his own death wasn’t so peculiar.

It started off as nothing — just an endless void of . . . even  _ nothing _ didn’t feel like the right word for it. The only reprieve was the brief, fleeting moments of consciousness which he’d desperately try to hold onto, yet they always managed to slip through his fingers. All Yuta had wanted was an escape from the emptiness. He came to regret that. Just as he’d wished, the emptiness slowly began to fade, few and far between, interspersed among his thoughts rather than a dominating force which kept trying to pull him back in. They became his only moments of peace.

Yuta was haunted by his own existence. It was fitting that he’d be punished for the things he’d done throughout his life but that didn’t make it any easier; no one wanted to relive all of their greatest failures and shortcomings on repeat for the rest of eternity. It was all infinitely more painful the second time around, and the third, and the forth . . . and so on. Each time the memories grew even more twisted and warped until Yuta wasn’t sure where they began and his guilty conscience ended, each stroke adding to melancholic canvas he was trapped before. 

He was a fool. He should’ve thought more. Tried harder. Loved more. Yuta should’ve asked questions rather than blindly following orders in the hopes of receiving the barest scraps of recognition and praise. No one was truly innocent, but how many had needlessly died at his hands? How many times had he carried out orders that had been fabricated based on false information so that someone could gain from it? How many times had he been the monster in someone else’s story?

How many vengeful spirits had  _ he _ caused, unable to move on after the injustices they’d been dealt?

Yuta should’ve savoured it all while he had the chance. He should’ve fought harder against his temper and made a bigger effort to express his feelings rather than locking them away and pretending that they didn’t exist. Things wouldn’t have been any different if he’d done that, but he would’ve had less regrets to deal with. He should’ve told Johnny just how much it meant to him that he’d stuck by his side and that he truly was his brother, not just in the name of the Hunt but in spirit, too. He should’ve been kinder to his juniors; should’ve told them he was only hard on them because he wanted the best for them: should’ve told them just how proud he was of them, how much he cared for them.

The only thing he  _ didn’t  _ regret was his ending, but fate had a funny way of fucking him over, which was why most of his torment came in the form of the last face he’d seen.

It would’ve been too easy if he’d been allowed to relive his true memories of those precious months spent at Weishen and the sheer joy they’d brought him despite the rest. No, it would’ve been too  _ good _ . Yuta hadn’t earned good. Instead, it went a little something like this:

Sicheng. Dead. Dying. About to die. Him — unable to do anything but watch. Sometimes it was his blade, sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes it was Yuta dying as Sicheng stood and watched, laughing. Sometimes it was his friends who lay dead at his feet, superimposed over the nameless, faceless bodies he’d left in his wake. 

_ “You’re pathetic.” _

That was real. Yuta remembered that.

_ “I’m sick of it— of  _ you _.” _

That was, too. 

Sometimes, rarely (so rare that sometimes Yuta wasn’t even sure if it’d happened), there’d be a flaw in the system. It felt like those moments were the only thing keeping him going — not that he had a choice about any of this.

_ “You said you’d be waiting for me every night,”  _ a faint voice would whisper as a fleeting sense of warmth came over him.  _ “But I don’t see you there. Come back to me.” _

_ “They miss you, Yuta.  _ I _ miss you.” _

_ “I have so much I want to tell you, you know? I miss talking to you.” _

_ “It’s not the same without you.” _

_ “I found some books in the library that I thought you’d like. You always told me so many stories, so I thought that I should return the favour. This one’s called . . .” _

_ “I’m not going to give up on you, Yuta. I’ll wait for you as long as I have to.” _

Sometimes, Yuta liked to delude himself into thinking that the voice sounded like Sicheng.

What little consciousness the fae still possessed had come to the understanding that this would, in fact, be his eternity, and for as much as he hated it . . . Yuta knew that he wouldn’t have changed his decision, because he’d known the moment he made up his mind what saving Sicheng would entail and he’d been all too happy to pay the price. He still was; just the knowledge that there was a chance that Sicheng was still alive was enough to make every painful moment worth it.

Eternity ended up being much shorter than one would imagine. Flames burned all around him, their fury deafening and almost drowning out the terror-filled screams which filled the air. Like usual, when trapped in his memories, Yuta was helpless to do anything but watch as the horrific scene before him unfolded, everything perfectly scripted and staged down to the patterning of the blood on his sword. His body moved of its own accord, one step after the other, chest heaving as the flames parted to allow him through and closer towards the heart of the settlement. Yuta’s arm raised, carrying the weight of a sword, and then—

Nothing. No, nothing wasn’t the word for this. It was dark, first of all, and dark meant the presence of something, at least, rather than nothing. Nestled in the dark all around him were stars. They twinkled softly like fireflies save for the fact that they were stationary, and there was something solid beneath his feet for the first time in— well, Yuta wasn’t sure how long he’d been floating. More striking, though, was the man who stood before him.

The man was tall. Taller than him, at least. His skin seemed almost luminescent in a way that certainly wasn’t human, but Yuta couldn’t say it was particularly fae, either; there was nothing hanging in the air, magic or not, just a pleasant, steady lull that was comforting. Dark, somewhat shaggy hair framed his face, though it was the sort that looked effortless yet also perfectly styled at the same time. His features were striking, too, with a longer face that was decorated with strong brows, almond eyes and a thin, sharp nose which led to his lips. He was handsome, in a more mature kind of way.

Despite the fact that Yuta couldn’t get a read on the man at all, it felt like . . . it was such an odd feeling, really. On one hand, the warmth in his chest was reminiscent of what he could only describe as home, as safety, but on the other there was a part of his mind that, while it didn’t necessarily regard the man as a threat, recognised that he could be if he wanted to.

“You’re an interesting one, aren’t you?” The man spoke, cocking his head slightly with the faintest hint of a smile that curved his eyes. There was certainly some intrigue there. “It’s not very often one of you catches my attention, but how could I miss you? Such an odd creature. Tell me, why did you sacrifice yourself?”

“I couldn’t let him die.” That pulled a chuckle from the mysterious stranger, the sound melodic and soothing, like a breeze through the forest at night and the flutter of an  owl's wings.

“He was ready to sacrifice himself for his brothers; why wasn’t he allowed to do so, but you could?”

It was an easy answer, but one that lingered in Yuta’s mouth for a few moments rather than instantly making itself known. There was no maliciousness in the other’s words whatsoever, just what seemed like a genuine curiosity and a knowing glimmer in his eyes. “Because I didn’t want him to,” Yuta admitted. “I couldn’t live in a world without him in it. If I failed, at least I wouldn’t be left behind.” The stranger seemed to like his answer. They stared at each other for a long moment, quiet, and Yuta couldn’t really read his features; the emotions were too complex for him to truly comprehend, layers upon layers that he could never hope to unravel, though there were parts that he resonated with.

“Do you think he wants to live in a world without you, then?”

It was Yuta’s turn to chuckle, but the noise was weak and a little pained as he turned his gaze upwards to the stars. He’d never thought that he’d see them again — the sky was always void of them in his memories. “Perhaps I’d be lucky enough for him to mourn me, but knowing him it’d mostly be guilt. Sicheng is strong, though — he wouldn’t let it get in his way. He has things — people — to live for, after all.” A pause. “Even if he doesn’t want to, he’ll keep living, because he won’t waste a second chance. I’m selfish enough to be content with that.”

The stranger sighed and took a step forward, hands tucked into the pockets of dark, flowing trousers that matched the blouse he wore. He looked rather magical, really, like he was at home amongst these stars. “It’s quite the miracle that your consciousness is even still intact after what you’ve done to yourself; I can feel what it’s taken from you. Still, I couldn’t interfere with mortal matters. You would either fight through it or you wouldn’t. What I can do, though, is give you a choice.”

Yuta’s brows furrowed a little at that.

“You’re a brave warrior. You’ve fought long and hard for what you thought was right — it’s admirable. I can feel how tired you are, little fae, how your bones ache, how your heart aches, how you ache for reprieve. If you want to give in, I’ll keep your soul safe and sound, with me, until you decide you’re ready to let go. If you don’t . . . I’ll give you one more chance.”

One more chance.

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, I can’t tell you that. All I can tell you is that it’s a chance. If it fails then there is nothing I can do; you’ll be stuck here.” The forever went unspoken, yet Yuta heard it loud and clear. Ice-cold terror seized him at the thought of going back to . . . to whatever he’d been trapped in. A smart person would take the first offer in a heartbeat, but Yuta had never claimed to be smart.

A chance. It was only a chance, not a guarantee, and Yuta had no idea what it meant, only that it had to do with Sicheng. Even if it was just one second, a second where he could see that he was doing okay, that he was safe, it’d be worth it. Even if it failed . . . it was worth the effort.

“I’ve held out this long,” Yuta breathed out, eyes meeting the stranger’s once more, “what’s another eternity if it fails? I want to try.”

The stranger’s eyes softened immeasurably and he crossed the space between them slowly, reaching up to set a cool hand on his shoulder — it was like marble, icy to the touch yet soothing. Up close Yuta could see that there was no distinction between his pupils and irises; it was all just endless pools that seemed to reflect the night sky. Then again, maybe the sky simply resided in his eyes. “Oh how I envy you, little fae,” the man sighed, bittersweet. The hand on his shoulder squeezed in time with that tight smile. “You defied my expectations, Yuta — you deserve your reward. This is your only second chance, so don’t waste it.”

Before Yuta could open his mouth to ask what the stranger meant everything disappeared; the stars, the man, and the ground beneath his feet. Yuta began to fall.   
  


-

Yuta’s body jolted awake as if he’d been electrocuted. A gasp ran through the room as his lungs greedily sucked in as much air as they could, ragged pants shaking his shoulders and chest as he tried to orient himself and break through the hazy fog inhabiting his mind. He couldn’t . . . he couldn’t exactly remember, at first, where he was or how he’d gotten here — in this bed, dressed in loose linen clothes and feeling like absolute shit. Yuta wasn’t even sure what the last thing he remembered was.

He took a moment to focus on calming himself and, as he did, he tried to make sense of everything. His body ached in more places than he’d thought possible, like his very bones were bruised and battered, and there was a deeper, numbing exhaustion that had nothing to do with sleep. No, Yuta felt wide awake, but it was like the energy had been sapped from him; not just physical energy, but  _ everything _ . 

The room was pretty bare. The only thing other than the bed he was in was a wooden chair which was pulled up to the side of the mattress and a small bedside table that was decorated with a bundle of ageing flowers. The window to his right was open and the pale curtains at each side danced gently at the whim of a breeze he could just feel coming in from outside. It allowed light in, too. At first the light made him squint and shy away a little, but as the moments passed he grew more and more adjusted to it.

He was in Weishen. He knew that much just by the familiar colour scheme of the room. With every second he was awake the fog seemed to thin out; it wasn’t an instant, overbearing influx of information, but rather a slow, gentle stream of things that suddenly made sense. Yuta was in Weishen, and he wasn’t dead. He was very much alive. The exhaustion and pain was undoubtedly a result of the resentful energy that he’d absorbed; unable to assimilate it, he’d been helpless to do anything but let it run its course. 

Yuta didn’t know how long he’d been . . . asleep. Asleep probably wasn’t the word for it.  _ That _ was still hazy and he couldn’t remember much if anything from his unconsciousness other than flashes of feeling, none of them overly pleasant. Understandable. Regardless, he definitely felt as though he’d been out of it for far too long. The fae closed his eyes, exhaled, and then peeled back the mass of blankets he’d been bundled in and wiggled his toes. All of his limbs were still there and functional, thankfully. The only difference, looking down at his clothed body, was that he looked a little pale, certainly frailer than he was used to looking (or feeling). He could feel his hair brushing around his shoulders as well. If it’d grown that much then he wasn’t looking at days or weeks. Months? Shit.

There was no point dawdling — it was evident he’d been doing a lot of that lately. Yuta angled his torso as he swung his legs off the mattress and it all took a considerable effort compared to what he was used to; every movement had his body crying out in protest, but if there was one thing that he was used to internalising, it was pain. He’d pushed his body to the limits for years and stretched his tolerance to the edge, and then beyond that. 

It was easy to see that the room was bare of any sort of closet or chest but his heels bumped against something tucked under the bed and when Yuta pried them out with his feet he realised they were, in fact shoes. His shoes. Nice to know that he’d been left with something. It helped him get a better sense of control over his fine motor skills as he bent down to slide his feet into them, fingers not struggling with the laces as much as he’d anticipated. There was a very brief moment when he stood that he feared that his legs would fail him. They held strong, if a bit shaky. 

The door opened and when Yuta turned his head around he was greeted with the shocked expression of a man he didn’t know. They stared at each other for a moment and then the fae smiled, a wide, carefree grin that felt comfortable on his lips. “When’s breakfast? I’m  _ starving _ .”

-

The attendant had looked as though he’d seen a ghost, and Yuta was quickly beginning to understand why.

“You’ve been unconscious for six months,” Dejun explained from where he was sitting across from him. It was early enough in the day that a few of the residents were still finishing up their own breakfasts and a lot of them had a similar look in their eyes to what he’d seen in the attendants earlier. He knew that it had to have been a considerable amount of time, but there was a difference between speculating and hearing it out loud. Six months wasn’t much for one of his kind in the grand scheme of things, but Yuta was in the human world, now, and each moment was incredibly precious. 

“I guess you guys were probably ready to give up on me,” Yuta chuckled under his breath before he stuffed his mouth with another spoonful of congee. He couldn’t even bring himself to complain about how plain it was for the simple fact that his body was so thankful for any sort of food. There was certainly a need to take it easy so that he didn’t push his body too far too quick. 

“Of course not,” the human replied quickly, sounding almost annoyed by the idea. “You’re our friend, Yuta, and after what you did for Sicheng . . . that’s not something we’re ever going to forget.” Two syllables, yet they made his whole chest seize with something equally unpleasant and beautiful.  _ Sicheng _ . He’d only been awake for maybe half an hour yet there was already a sorcerer-sized hole that he was dying to fill. Of course, the first thing he’d asked Dejun when the human came into the room had been if Sicheng was okay, and he’d been reassured, promised that he was just away at the moment. 

Yuta set his spoon down (reluctantly) and looked up. “You don’t owe me anything. Any of you — even him.  _ Especially him _ . Still . . . thank you. I’ve woken up in a coffin once before and trust me, I’m glad not to have a repeat of that.” Dejun gave him a look that was half incredulous and half doubt. “Long story, I’ll tell you some other time. Anyway, tell me everything I need to know.”

“You know what, not going to ask,” the other snorted. “I don’t know where to start. I guess . . . everything was a mess after that night. Sicheng was unconscious too and we had to hear what happened from the others. Zitao disappeared. If he hadn’t, I think Kun honestly would’ve killed him, and I don’t think I can blame him for that. He tricked all of us. Taeyong and Ten dealt with Lady Liu. It was a full-scale assault but they were the ones who dealt with her personally; I don’t know all the details, but I know she suffered.” Something dark flickered across Dejun’s expression. “Not as much as she deserved, though.”

“Nothing would ever be enough. No matter how much pain and suffering it’d never be enough to make up for what she did. She’s dead now, though. I hope you can at least find solace in that.” Yuta knew from experience that it was never as satisfying as you’d imagine it to be. When he’d learnt of Seungyoun’s death he hadn’t been excited, nor had he felt better about anything that’d happened. He’d just felt . . . tired. Relieved. 

Dejun averted his gaze to the table and slumped his shoulders a bit, his knuckles white where his fists rested on the table. “She can’t hurt anyone else, that’s all that matters. Either way, she died. Taeyong and the others really stepped up and helped around here while Sicheng was out of it, we probably couldn’t have done it without them, especially when we had to try and deal with all of her people, too. A few days later Sicheng woke up. He was . . . it was rough, at first. I’ve never seen Sicheng like that, but at the same time it felt like we had  _ him _ back. Our brother."

“We were worried that this would be what finally broke him, you know? He was absolutely destroyed knowing what he’d done and what could’ve happened, and when he realised what you’d done for him and that there was a chance that you wouldn’t wake up . . .”

Guilt. Yuta knew that Sicheng would feel guilty of what’d happened. 

“It didn’t break him, though. He’d been more functional in the past few months than he’s been in years. He’s been letting us help him more, not just with Weishen but with everything; I know it’s hard for him, but he’s been making an effort to open himself up to us again after everything that happened. He’s been bombarded with his duties lately but he makes time for us.

“He makes time for you, too.” Dejun’s expression had grown softer and softer as he spoke about his brother, but at this something else sparked, something almost playful. “When Taeyong and the others left he was so nervous but he promised that he’d look after you until you woke up and he’s been taking it very seriously. It’s why I’m still here — he makes sure that at least one of us is at Weishen at all times, just in case you wake up or something happens. We take turns.”

Out of everything, that was what was hardest for Yuta to wrap his head around. 

“He’s gotten all the best healers he can find to look at you just in case they could help. I don’t think there’s one day he didn’t visit you unless he was away, you know? Even then he was always quick to see you as soon as he—”

Yuta’s spoon clinked against his bowl louder and with far more force than he’d intended, cutting the other off. His eyes focused intently on the few remaining grains left in the bottom of it rather than looking up at Dejun, his whole body tense as he tried to regulate his breathing. Everything just felt like . . . too much. The emotions that the other’s words were pulling forth in him were overwhelming and, frankly, he couldn’t cope with them, not now. “Sorry,” he strained. “I didn’t . . . I’m still feeling a bit weird.” Not a lie, just not the whole truth. He felt oddly vulnerable under the other’s gaze. Like he could see right through him.

“Where are they?” Yuta asked once he felt like he could breathe again.

“They headed inland two days ago, close to Jinan. It’s been a long process to deal with the aftermath of Lady Liu and Sicheng’s been putting in a lot of effort to make sure he does it right. He has emissaries set up there to keep things running but he visits often to check in himself and we usually go with him.” Dejun pulled a face like he’d eaten something sour. “It’s dangerous for him, there. A lot of angry people who don’t understand. “

“Have people tried to hurt him?”

“A few. Tried, though. We’ve made sure no one’s succeeded; it’s hard to discourage them when there’s no punishment.” At first he assumed he’d heard Dejun wrong. If people were apparently making attempts on Sicheng’s life, why wasn’t there any sort of punishment in place? He understands leniency, but  _ still _ . 

“When do you think they’ll return?”

“Oh, they’ll probably be back by dinner,” Dejun mused offhandedly. “They would’ve left as soon as I let them know you were awake.” Something in his chest fluttered at that. He had a few hours, then, to try and make it look like he  _ hadn’t  _ been comatose for months.

It wasn’t the room he’d stayed in before that Yuta was led to this time but rather a room on the level above which, from his understanding, was primarily reserved for Sicheng and his brothers; the rooms up here were a little more spacious and there were a number that apparently only had one bed, which meant they offered privacy, and it was one of those rooms that was opened for him. “All of your things are already inside,” the attendant from earlier, Yanwei, explained as he held the door open, “but if you do need anything please ask.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” Yuta promised. It was only once the door closed behind him and that he was left alone that he was able to relax fully, a lot of the tension he’d been holding over the last hour draining from him, as well as a lot of the energy he’d managed to muster. He knew that if he stopped he probably wouldn’t be able to get himself going again.

Sure enough, the few clothes that he’d brought with him when they’d travelled here were tucked away in a set of wooden drawers, but there was a considerable amount of unfamiliar fabric accompanying it. There were predominantly monochrome pieces, all of it seemingly new, but there was no missing the flashes of red here and there that made him pause, nor the few pieces that were a rich, velvet green that he naturally gravitated towards. They were too fancy for someone like him, and certainly too formal for wearing around Weishen. 

Soft, grey linen was pulled over his head and the material hung off his shoulder slightly. No doubt they’d been acquired for the size he’d been before — no matter, Yuta would be able to regain what he’d lost with a few months of work. There were still hints of muscle under his skin (it was impossible to lose decades of effort within six months, after all), he was just a bit thinner. Softer. The dark pants he raised over his thighs were comfortable but required a belt to cinch it at his waist. No problem. There were several for him to choose from.

Yuta finally allowed himself to look into the large mirror standing against one of the bedroom walls and took in his appearance. He’d been right in assuming that his hair was longer; the sides had grown out considerably and his mop of dark hair had grown into something that reached his shoulders with ease. If he tried then he had no doubt he’d be able to tie it all back. His face was rather sharp compared to what he remembered and he looked half as tired as he felt. His skin was much paler, too, even though he’d been up and walking around. The fae set a hand on his stomach and inhaled deeply as he closed his eyes, feeling out for his magic and sensing only a weak spark in response.

He’d really done a number on himself, hadn’t he?

With his hair tied back for the most part (because it was really far too long for him to leave out, at least for his own comfort) he looked marginally more put together, and that would have to be enough for now. As many questions as he still had racing around in his mind, he truly didn’t feel like he was up for human interaction right now, and certainly not any sort of conversation. If Yuta had his way he’d go sit on the ground somewhere but he didn’t feel like walking past everyone and there was no way he could even hope to portal out right now. What he could do, though . . . 

There was a large window at the side of the room that had caught his eye when he walked in. Now, Yuta pulled back the curtains and allowed himself to look out. He’d assumed it’d be a view of the grounds of the forest, if he was lucky, but instead he looked across to see other rooms and, more prominently, a balcony. Above there was a glass roof that was all too familiar, and below, well, below was Sicheng’s garden. 

Yuta was supposed to be taking it easy. That was a self-imposed rule, as well as one Liena had reinforced numerous times this morning when she’d checked him over. It didn’t stop him from hoisting himself up onto the edge of the window, though; his legs dangled in the air for all of a second before he dropped down. Usually a drop from this height wouldn’t be much to worry about — maybe just a bit jarring, but when he hit the ground this time his legs buckled and he fell to the ground with a muffled gasp. His hands caught him before he went face down so it was a small victory. Shit, that hurt. 

Even as he thought that, though, the dirt beneath his hands sent a little thrill through his body. It’d been so long. Carefully,  _ slowly _ , Yuta pushed himself up to his feet and made his way deeper into the garden. It felt like with every step the ache in his bones eased off, albeit minutely, but it was a difference nonetheless, and one he was certainly grateful for. Some of that exhaustion abated, too. 

Rather than sitting on the little bench he’d spent so many nights on, Yuta sat his ass down on a patch of dirt and leant back on his palms, his face turned skyward, his eyes closed. The warmth of the sun on his skin was incredibly soothing, like . . . like a caress to his cheek, something innocent and fond; the reassurance of a parent. It was quiet, here, save for the faint rustle of leaves and the far off tinkle of voices from the house, which made it easy to let his mind drift as he slowly fed on the natural energy flowing around him.

A sharp inhale pulled him from his reverie an unknown amount of time later. When Yuta’s eyes opened into thin slits the sun was no longer high in the sky and the direct warmth it offered had dissipated; there was still a residual effect, though, that had held him feeling far less drained. The fae knew even before he turned who it was, though, and not just because of where he was. He’d recognise Sicheng’s magic anywhere. He had a very unique signature.

Yuta turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse. It was still enough to take his breath away.

The last time he’d seen Sicheng he’d been dying, quite literally. Pale, gaunt, covered in blood. Even the weeks leading up to that night he’d watched as he deteriorated each and every day. It was evident to Yuta now that he’d never actually seen Sicheng healthy before.

He’d always been gorgeous but now he looked positively radiant. There was a fullness to his features that softened him, made him look younger; where his cheeks had once been sharp and hollow they were now rounder and painted with a healthy amount of colour; his eyes no longer seemed as sunken as they once did and the dullness he’d once found there was replaced by a sparkle.

The fae pushed himself up onto his knees and then his feet before brushing off the dirt that clung to him. Only then did he properly look up. They sort of just . . . stared at each other at first. Yuta could feel Sicheng’s eyes moving over him, probably making a note of how he looked now just as he had, though the difference was that Yuta knew he looked much worse than he had before. 

“You’re an idiot.” Yuta blinked rapidly, surprised. Well, he hadn’t expected that, though maybe he should have; thankfully there wasn’t really any bite behind his words, just a tightness he couldn’t quite decipher. “You—“ Sicheng cut himself off with a huff and averted his gaze, fists clenching what had to be painfully before they relaxed and the tension seemed to disperse. Huh. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

Yuta swallowed thickly. Then, he smiled. It was a small, patient smile, though there was an underlying fondness that he couldn’t be bothered trying to fight. If he hadn’t already felt like it’d all been worth it then he would’ve decided that now, just from this. “I’m glad, too.” Even if he’d been prepared to die, this was certainly favourable to that. “It’s weird, though, to wake up and feel like everything’s changed.”

Sicheng snorted softly and his eyes flickered back. They were so much warmer and open than Yuta was used to. “Nothing’s changed in the ways that matter.” He paused. “Other than your hair, maybe. I’m surprised you haven’t cut it yet.” It took Yuta a second to realise that Sicheng had just made a joke, willingly, with no prompting or pestering, and that it wasn’t a biting one. His smile grew.

“What can I say? My hands weren’t up to the challenge today,” he hummed, “and I don’t exactly make a habit of letting people near me with blades. Are you offering to help?” There was an element of teasing in his tone (as always) but there was also an underlying seriousness to the question. Yuta could count on one hand the number of people he’d ever trust to do such a thing (and even then, he didn’t have confidence in all their abilities). This was Sicheng, though. 

To be fair, he couldn’t blame Sicheng for looking surprised. Rather than a carefully veiled reaction that Yuta had to sift through layers to see it was as clear as day that the question caught him off guard. There was no snapping, though. The sorcerer didn’t look at him like he was a pest. There wasn’t even a hint of irritation in those lovely eyes. 

“Sure,” the other finally relented with a faint shrug, “but don’t blame me if you don’t like it.”

Oh, how the tables had turned. It wasn’t that Sicheng was different — not in the ways that mattered — but the fact remained that this version of him, the one that Yuta had never been blessed with experiencing, would take some getting used to. He was . . . softer, overall, even if Yuta knew that there was enough sharpness there to counteract it if necessary. The thing that he noticed most was that Sicheng was no longer trying to push him away as he’d been doing ever since Yuta arrived.

“How short would you like it?” Sicheng asked quietly from behind him. Yuta was sat on a wooden chair in his room with a small towel hung around his shoulders to keep him clean and Sicheng was out of view completely. Yuta hadn’t been anticipating that the other would agree to do this. Maybe he hadn’t been prepared for what it would mean if he did. Regardless, they’d ended up here. 

“Do whatever you think looks good, as long as you leave me with some hair.” Yuta’s voice was quiet; he felt as though if he talked too loud this illusion would shatter and he’d be left alone once more. He inhaled slowly and then exhaled as his eyes fluttered closed, head tilted back ever so slightly to give Sicheng as much access as he needed. “Have you ever cut hair before?”

“A few times,” Sicheng answered, followed by a small  _ snip _ . “Mostly my own.” Tingles ran through his nerves as deft fingers carded through his hair, sometimes grazing his scalp as they separated sections of hair and held them up to the blades. It’d been a very, very long time since someone had touched him like this. To be honest, it took everything in him not to squirm in his seat. “When I was ten I cut Yukhei’s hair for the first time. It was a bit of a disaster, which is why my brothers have always been hesitant to let me near theirs.”

A breathy laugh fell from Yuta’s lips and he resisted the urge to lean into the touch. “We used to cut our own in the guard, too. I’d like to think that I’ve never been too extreme, but Johnny — he’s like my brother — has had a few choice hairstyles. I don’t think you could pay me to let him near mine.”

“You’re brave to trust me with it.”

“Debatable.”

Their conversation trickled off after that. The only noises that broke through the silence were their breathing; the shuffle feet or clothes; the quiet snips of a blade and hair hitting his shoulders. With every cut, Yuta’s head started to feel lighter. 

It felt like he was dreaming. No— Yuta wasn’t the sort to be blessed with such pleasant dreams. This was the sort of dream that he wished he often had. Sicheng was willingly touching him. He seemed . . . dare he say,  _ comfortable _ , around him. Yuta could even delude himself into thinking that it felt like Sicheng’s touches lingered here and there. There were so many questions hanging right on the tip of his tongue yet he refused to give voice to any of them. He didn’t want to push his luck. 

By the end Sicheng had gravitated around him to standing slightly between his parted knees as he cut the hair around his face. Every so often warm fingers would graze his skin and his throat would bob, eyes shifting behind closed lids. Sicheng was close enough that Yuta could not only feel his breath washing over his features but he could also smell him; it was a spiced scent, something that was inherently warm and reminded him of the forest. If he really tried then he could pick up on notes of juniper and cedarwood. It was utterly intoxicating. 

Eventually there was a pause in which no touches or noises came. Yuta finally allowed his eyes to flutter open, lids heavy as his vision focused on the figure in front of him. It was enough to make him feel a little bit breathless. Sicheng was always taller than him but, like this, sitting down, there was a more obvious discrepancy which meant he had to lean back a bit more to get a proper look at him. There was an undeniable affection to be seen in those shimmering eyes that he so adored, and all that Yuta could do as fingers gently moved his chin side-to-side so that the other could assess the cut was  _ stare _ .

“Let me know what you think,” was what came as Sicheng pulled away. It took Yuta a moment to get himself with the program. Hair was swept off his shoulders and carried over to the bin as he made his way to the mirror from earlier to get a good look at himself.  _ Oh _ . He’d had his hair a countless number of ways over the decades, so nothing could truly be new, but it’d been a long, long while since he’d looked like this. The face that stared back at him reminded him all too much of a young apprentice who was still oblivious to just how horrific the world could be.

Shorter strands of hair curled in and framed his face, slowly tapering down to where they curled around the base of his neck. Rather than a mess of dark hair all around it was shaped, making him appear less ragged and wild without. Yuta’s fingers came up to ruffle through the layers, testing the length and feel of it even though he’d already made his mind up the moment he’d seen it, and he let out a pleased little hum before grinning. Of course, Sicheng couldn’t see that.

“Do you need me to change it?” Sicheng almost sounded nervous. 

“Mmm, I think you missed a spot.”

“What?”

Yuta turned on his heel and tried not to laugh as soon as he saw the expression on the other’s face — it was near-panicked. “I’m joking, Sicheng. It’s great — thank you.”

-

“Absolutely fearless,” Kunhang downright  _ cackled _ . The noise was mirrored by most around the table as Yuta rolled his eyes and brushed them off, downing another mouthful of the liquor that Kun had brought out in celebration and relishing in the burning heat that ran down his throat. 

“Are you sure Sicheng did it? I remember when he—“

“It wasn’t that bad,” Sicheng hissed as he clipped Yangyang up the back of the head, yet anyone could see that the touch was far from cruel and only a love tap, and the playful spark in his eyes only added to it. “You looked fine.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” Dejun offered sympathetically which sent everyone into yet another round of laughter. Even if it was at Sicheng’s expense, he seemed . . . happy. The smile that stretched across his lips was filled with joy and carefree in a way that Yuta had never seen him before. As everyone joked and laughed, passing around drinks and food, Yuta watched his human with an affectionate little grin and relished in the sense of belonging — of family — that had encased him.

-

“If Liena finds out you were out of bed last night she’s going to have your head,” Sicheng said from over near his window two days later, the morning light casting him in soft shades of yellow. Yuta was reclined in his bed, back against the headboard and a tray of food in his lap as he enthusiastically ate away at his breakfast. Usually he’d eat down with everyone else but he’d pushed himself further than he should’ve yesterday — to his merit he hadn’t actually meant to do it, he’d just ended up talking with Jongin and he’d been feeling so  _ good _ when he woke up that he hadn’t thought to be careful. 

Almost passing out after the other had left just because he used a little bit of his magic was not a good look. To be fair, he supposed that he deserved the scolding that the healer had given him.

“I’ll have you know, I’m her favourite patient,” Yuta said rather matter-of-factly as he set his spoon down and stretched his arms out above his head.

“Only because you flirt with her.”

“I don’t flirt with anyone except you.” He didn’t miss the way Sicheng’s whole body stiffened and how he kept his gaze intently focused out the window rather than facing him. Yuta felt like he knew the other well enough to know what would and wouldn’t make him uncomfortable — if he thought it truly bothered him, he’d stop. Truth be told, he did tend to act a little bit shameless around close friends, though that was just because he liked testing what reactions he could get from people, and no one gave him more rewarding reactions than Sicheng. Of course, that wasn’t  _ why _ he flirted with Sicheng. They both knew that. “I’m just a pleasure to be around. Don’t you think?”

“That’s pushing it.” Once upon a time Yuta would flinched at the words and the venom they would’ve no doubt been laced with, but instead they now spurred him on. He moved the tray over to the side and pushed his blankets back (honestly, he could get used to being brought breakfast in bed like some damsel, it was incredibly convenient) and stood up. All it took was the faintest tremble to his legs which he barely even felt and Sicheng was by his side, hands hovering like he was ready to take some of his weight if necessary. 

“You need to be careful,” the other scolded with a huff.

Yuta rolled his eyes playfully and met the other’s gaze. “I will be. Pinky promise. I just want to sit by the window and warm up. Is that acceptable, My Lord?” Sicheng’s eyebrows did that funny little twitch that they always did when Yuta referred to him that way. Part annoyed, part something else. 

“I suppose so.” The taller male trailed behind him the entire way over to the window until Yuta was settled on the long, plush bench that was now nestled against it

Yanwei had brought it in yesterday with a boyish grin, claiming that, “I was asked to bring it in so that you could enjoy your mornings without having to stand.” Yuta was going to get Dejun back when he least expected it for likening him to a lizard yesterday — he just liked the sun! It wasn’t his fault that his magic naturally drew on its energy and that it could help him regain his strength. He certainly did it more gracefully than a lizard basking on a rock . . .

“I need to work on organising another summit, but if you need anything just call Yanwei and he’ll help, or get me, or someone else—“

“Sicheng.” Yuta’s voice was quiet but firm as he interrupted. “You don’t owe me anything.”

There was no point in denying that the last two days had been some of the more pleasant in his life despite his slow recovery. Being doted on constantly by his human was enough to have him feel like he was floating; the constant attention was something he’d never grow bored of. Still, he wasn’t oblivious to those guilty glances often sent his way or the fact that Sicheng always seemed hesitant to leave, as though Yuta was just going to drop dead or disappear. It was clear that he was trying his hardest to make up for everything and while Yuta could appreciate that in its own right, it also rubbed him the wrong way.

Sicheng’s face contorted into something troubled and frustrated the moment Yuta spoke and he opened his mouth to argue. 

“I mean it,” he insisted before Sicheng could do so. “There’s no debt for you to repay. There’s nothing for you to thank me for — I don’t want that between us. I don’t want you to think that  _ I  _ feel that way, because I don’t.” Everything he’d done had been purely selfish after all. More than that, he didn’t want Sicheng to feel as though he was indebted to him. To push himself because of that or to treat Yuta any differently because of it. “You’re the Matriarch. You have a faction to run. You don’t need to apologise for doing your duty.”

“You nearly died,” Sicheng said calmly rather than growing agitated, though there was definitely an edge to his voice. “Forgive me for being _ worried _ .” Okay, maybe that was a little more bitter. Rather than backpedaling, Yuta just smirked — a fond, wry little curl of his lips that reached his eyes. Worried. Sicheng had been worried over him.

“It’s sweet that you’re worried for me, and I do appreciate it, Sicheng, I really do, but . . . you don’t need to be. I’m not going anywhere.” Yuta glanced up at the other and tilted his head slightly. “Don’t you remember what I said? I’m yours, if you want me — whether that’s a month from now, or a year, or a decade, my answer is always going to be the same. I’m not going anywhere, and you don’t owe me  _ anything _ .”

All of the tension in Sicheng’s body seemed to melt away, like frost under the morning sun, as he listened to Yuta speak. His eyes widened, his lips parted, and if Yuta wasn’t mistaken, there appeared to be a faint flush across his cheeks as he stared at him. He looked incredulous — as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

He didn’t really get an answer, but he hadn’t expected one. Instead, Yuta watched on affectionately as his human open and closed his mouth numerous times as though his words were failing him. It was cute, really. Finally, after what had to be a solid minute, Sicheng’s teeth clicked shut and he appeared to reign in his emotions enough to think clearly and collect himself. 

“I should . . . get going.” It was a rare treat for Yuta to see the other like this, what he could only describe as shy. 

“Mmm, probably. Have a good day, My Lord — I’ll see you this evening at dinner.”

Sicheng just offered a small nod of his head and a non-committal human in answer. He glanced at him one last time before heading towards the door. The thing was, though, that when Sicheng opened the door he paused straight away, staring at something out of Yuta’s line of vision; for a moment he thought he was going to turn back.

“Taeyong.”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Logically, Yuta knew that this was going to happen. Dare he say that he’d even known it would happen today, because there was no world in which Taeyong wouldn’t race back here after such a considerable amount of time. His little apprentice was a worrywart, after all. Still, there was no way that he could’ve properly prepared himself for this. His throat tightened up and it felt like the air around him grew thin as he forced himself to sit patiently on the bench, eyes locked on the door which obscured his view.

“Sicheng.” 

His human disappeared out of view and it took everything in Yuta not to jump up, like, five seconds ago. Instead he sat there, thrumming with nervous energy.  “It’s good to see you, too,” he heard Sicheng admit rather fondly. “It’s been . . . hard. But we’re getting through it — together.”  _ Together _ . His heart fluttered at the sound of that.

Yuta finally gave up on waiting. He jumped up to his feet and all but skipped over to the door, peeking around it with a carefree smile and coming to stand just beside him, shoulder nearly brushing against Sicheng’s back. 

Taeyong looked . . . he looked good. Healthy, happy, if a little nervous. His pale hair was slicked back with just a few stray pieces falling over his forehead and his skin was positively glowing. The tight-fitting blue vest he wore over the white blouse underneath was obviously made of a fine, expensive material, which was exactly what you’d expect from a member of the king’s court. Every piece of clothing and jewellery he wore was of the same quality and only served to accentuate that fine beauty he was naturally graced with. He looked every bit the royal he was born to be.

“Stop hogging him,” Yuta whined playfully, trying not to sound too tired. 

“Yuta, you’re supposed to be resting—“

“Resting smeshting, I’ve been resting for months,” Yuta interrupted Sicheng with what he hoped was a charming smile. “Look, I’ll take it easy, promise, but if I have to sit in that bed for another second I’ll actually die.” He’d barely turned his gaze back to Taeyong before the other fae was moving forward and pulling him firmly, but still carefully, into a big hug that made him melt instantly. His arms were up and wrapping around the other in return before his mind even caught up. 

“ _ Hyung _ .”

“Oh, Yongie— hey now, don’t get upset—“ Okay, shit, now he was getting choked up too, but could he be blamed? Even if he hadn’t been conscious for the six months there was still a Taeyong-sized hole in his chest. He’d barely left the other’s side for months beforehand. It’d been increasingly difficult ever since he’d woken up not to throw himself through that absurdly unstable portal and go find him. Even now, it was hard to deny that he recognised Taeyong as  _ his _ responsibility. 

“Don’t you ever do that to us again,” Taeyong demanded in a wobbly mess of words. Yuta’s brows knitted together as he hugged him even closer and smoothed a hand over his hair, tucking him in against his chest. “You’re not allowed to die, okay? I won’t allow it.” That made Yuta chuckle; it surprised him just how wet the noise was.

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of it.” His life still belonged to Taeyong, technically. 

His little fae pulled back, finally, with eyes glistening with unshed tears and little sniffles that broke his heart even more. Hands smoothed down his arms and Yuta had to force back sniffles of his own. Taeyong was just a baby. Yuta  _ knew _ that he wasn’t, not really, but for one of their kind he was still so young, so precious; he’d already endured far more than he ever should have at this age. Yuta had promised to protect him from any more pain but instead he’d been the one to inflict it. 

Sicheng cleared his throat from somewhere beside him, but Yuta focused on Taeyong for now, squeezing his hands. “I’ll leave you two to talk for a while, okay? If you need anything just ask.”

“Sounds good,” Yuta murmured quietly; he glanced up too late to see the other’s face, instead catching his back as he walked away. “How about we sit down? I think I’ll get hit if I’m seen walking around,” Yuta snickered as he led the other back into his room. Naturally, he gravitated towards the window again. 

“Be honest with me.” Gods, Taeyong really didn’t waste time, did he? “How are you?” Yuta scrunched his nose up at the question like it was a bad smell.

“I’m supposed to worry about you, not the other way around,” he pointed out. Taeyong didn’t seem impressed. One dark eyebrow jumped ever so slightly and Yuta felt himself slowly wilting under that patent gaze. He knew that the other would wait all day for an answer if that was what it took. Eventually Yuta caved. “Tired. Not like I need to sleep, gods, but . . . it took a lot out of me.”

“Understandable.”

“Listen, Taeyong, I—“ Yuta held a hand up to silence him when he tried to interject and fixed him with a firmer look. He needed to get this out and he knew that if he let Taeyong interrupt him he’d grow weak and probably be unable to say what he needed to. “Let me finish.  _ I’m sorry. _ I know you’ll say I don’t have any reason to be, but I do. I promised you that I wouldn’t leave your side and I did. I indirectly put you in danger because of my own selfishness. I know how worried you must have been, how much it must have hurt you, and I can’t apologise enough for that. But I . . . I’m going to ask something selfish of you, Taeyong.”

Yuta had been living for someone else ever since he’d been a child. There were no clear, distinct memories of what’d come before Illios, just flashes of faces that he couldn’t quite remember and a family that he didn’t know enough to mourn. For most of his life his sole purpose had been to serve the crown, as he’d been raised (conditioned, a bitter part of his mind hissed); even when he’d been exiled he’d been waiting, deep down, for them to want him back. After that it’d been Taeyong.

The idea of freedom — true freedom — was far more daunting than it should’ve been.

“Of course, Yuta — anything.”

Energy trickled through his hands, crawling up them and towards his core as Taeyong pushed his own forth. Even though it was to heal, the familiarity of it was incredibly soothing. It helped him focus and gather his thoughts into something coherent. In his mind, he started to prepare this giant speech filled with apologies and explanations but when he opened his mouth, all of that went out the window. There was no point beating around the bush.

“I . . . I never thought it’d be like this, but I just— it’s been so long since I’ve felt like I’ve had a home, Yong.” And he did — for the first time in his life,  _ truly _ , he felt like he belonged. These people hadn’t accepted him blindly. He’d had to earn their trust, their friendship, but that was what made it all the more rewarding and precious. They treated him as though he was one of their own. 

Last night, after he’d collapsed and been confined to his room, Sicheng and his brothers had crowded into his room despite his exaggerated huffing and puffing to share dinner with him. Yangyang had called it a family dinner. Sicheng had threatened violence if he didn’t shut up. 

“You want to stay here, with them — with him.” It took everything in Yuta not to wince. He could  _ hear _ just how much it hurt, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it back. Taeyong had always been good at reading him. If the situations were reversed then Yuta felt like he’d probably be reacting much worse than this, but there was no anger or betrayal in the other’s eyes like he’d been expecting. He supposed that almost made it worse.

“They’ll be good for you,” the other breathed out, voice thick, “and you’ll be good for them, too. As soon as you’re well enough you have to visit me, though.”

Shit. Yuta broke one hand away to wipe at his face — mostly it just served to smear the few tears that had escaped his eyes all over his skin which definitely made it worse. Ugh, he hated being emotional. Vulnerability would always feel wrong to him, but this was Taeyong. They were beyond shame. 

“Like you could keep me away even if you tried to.”

“You always have been infuriatingly stubborn,” Taeyong shot back. The weight in the room lifted substantially as they both dissolved into laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scream at me on twitter @peachxi1
> 
> stay hydrated ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!~
> 
> as always, I don't have a beta, so apologies for any mistakes.


End file.
